


Little Town

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Time, M/M, Mentors, Sex for Favors, following your dream, seeking your fortune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small-town boy Zayn goes to the big city to seek adventure and fortune. What he finds, is Louis, who takes him in off the street and offers to make him a star. But as their relationship develops Zayn begins to realise his true heart's desire might have been at home all along...Harry.</p>
<p>Written for a prompt of the song <a href="http://youtu.be/Mx1MmY1Bb50">Little Town</a> from Beauty and the Beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Town

"Hey, watch where you're going, dipshit!" 

The shout, accompanied by a rough shove startled Zayn out of his reverie too late to stop himself from either losing his balance or dropping the book he was carrying into a puddle. Snatching it up, he stared miserably at the stained pages, oblivious to the catcalls from the group of older boys as they moved off down the road.

"Are you okay?" 

Zayn looked up in surprise to find Harry from the bakery standing over him and holding out a hand. He was covered in flour as usual, dusty handprints all over his apron and wisps of it in his hair. 

"Yeah." Zayn sighed, accepting the hand up and looking sadly at the book. "I'm screwed though."

"It's not so bad?" Harry offered, wiping flecks of mud away from Zayn's jacket with the dishcloth he was holding. "Still readable."

"It's not mine," Zayn confessed. "I borrowed it from the bookshop. I promised I'd be careful and now look at it. No-one's going to buy it now, are they?"

"Can't you pay for it then?"

"With what?" Zayn sighed, then immediately felt guilty. He might not have any money of his own, but his family had plenty of it, which was why he could afford to be wandering down the street with his nose in a book while Harry had to work all hours for his family. Harry didn't take offence though, just smiled at him sympathetically. 

"Wouldn't your dad help out? It's not like it was your fault. Those guys are morons, I had to stop them shoplifting biscuits last week."

Zayn shook his head with a pang of embarrassment. "He doesn't like me reading fiction. Says it's a waste of time and I should be reading textbooks." 

Harry would have replied, but an irate bellow from behind him in the shop made him flinch. "Sorry, I've got to go. Good luck!" Harry turned and hurried back inside, leaving Zayn alone in the road.

He wandered on, trying to dry out the pages in the breeze without much success. There was no way the bookshop owner wouldn't notice what had happened to it, and it wasn't in Zayn's nature to try and hide it anyway. He'd just have to own up and hope he didn't get into too much trouble.

Zayn looked up and found that despite his reluctant dawdling, he'd already arrived at the shop door. He pushed it open, wincing as the bell gave a merry little tinkle to announce his presence.

"Hello?" he called out cautiously. Normally this was his favourite place to be, the looming stacks of books making him feel safe and happy, but today he just felt awkward and guilty.

"Hello, who's that?" A scuffling behind one of the shelves and the owner backed out clutching an armful of dusty volumes and trying to brush a cobweb off his sleeve. "Oh, hello Zayn!"

"Hi Liam." Zayn gave him a shy smile, and tried to hide the stained book behind his back. 

"And what can I do for you this morning?" Liam dropped the books onto an already top-heavy pile, making it sway alarmingly. 

"I, um." Zayn cleared his throat, "I brought your book back."

Liam raised his eyebrows. "Already? You only took it yesterday. Didn't you like it?"

"Oh, no, I loved it," Zayn said quickly. "I finished it already." He thought ruefully that he should have taken his time after all, then he wouldn't have been in the street at that particular moment. Oh well, what was done was done. 

"It's just - " he sighed, bringing the book out into plain view. "I - had a bit of an accident. I'm so sorry Liam." He hung his head as Liam took it from him and turned it in his hand, examining the damage.

"What happened Zayn? You're normally so careful."

"I know. I'm really sorry," Zayn muttered, unable to meet his eyes. He resisted the urge to spill out the whole story, knowing it had been up to him to take better care of it regardless of others. 

"Well. I can't sell it in this condition." Liam smiled and held it back out to him. "So I guess you'd better keep it."

"What?" Zayn's head came up in surprise, and he stared disbelievingly. "Are you sure?"

"Why not? It had been sat there for ages anyway. And you liked it, you said? It's not the sort of thing I normally get boys of your age buying."

Zayn nodded, sinking down onto a chair suddenly weak with relief, and clutching the book to his chest. "It was amazing," he agreed. "Everything I like. Adventure, and romance, and magic and excitement."

Liam studied him with faint amusement. "Escapism, huh? Hoping that one day your prince will come?" he suggested, and Zayn blushed furiously.

"No! I just - well nothing ever happens here, does it?" 

"Maybe instead of waiting to be swept off your feet you should get out there and do the sweeping," Liam suggested. 

Zayn stood up. "Maybe you're right. Thanks, Liam. For everything."

"No problem." Liam patted him on the shoulder. "See you again, huh?"

Zayn left the shop in much higher spirits than he'd arrived, and went to sit under the trees in the square to start re-reading the book from the start. 

\--

A month later, Zayn was waiting at the carriage stop in front of the tavern with a bag at his feet and a scarf round his neck that the wind kept snatching away from his attempts to secure it. 

He was so engrossed he didn't notice Harry coming along with a tray of rolls for the tavern until he was right in front of him.

"Oh, hey Harry. How's things?"

Harry stared at Zayn's bag and frowned. "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah. I'm going to the city!" Zayn said enthusiastically. "Can't wait to get out of this dump," he added, grabbing his scarf quickly as it made another bid for freedom, and missing the look of disappointment on Harry's face.

"You're leaving? For good?" Harry asked, setting down his tray and taking hold of the ends of Zayn's scarf, twisting it into a firm but comfortable knot and tucking it into his coat.

"Yeah. Well, till I've made my fortune, anyway!" Zayn teased. "Hey, thanks, how'd you do that?" he asked, poking at the scarf.

Harry shrugged. "Used to plaiting the dough," he smiled. "Don't forget us, will you? When you're all famous and stuff."

"Course not." Zayn looked up as the stagecoach rumbled in, and Harry had to grab his tray and step back quickly out of the way of the horses. "Look, I've got to go. Bye Harry."

"Yeah, bye Zayn. Good luck. Oh, wait, here, take one of these!" Harry handed him one of the rolls, and watched him climb up into the coach with a sad smile. He waved until it was out of sight.

\--

Settling back in his seat, Zayn felt a pang of nerves at leaving home on his own. He was eighteen, but he'd never been further than the next big town - and that was only big by the standards of the little one he came from. It was tempered by excitement though, and it wasn't as if he was striking out completely alone - his father had grudgingly agreed to write to Zayn's uncle and request a place for him working in the office at his factory. He hadn't told Harry that bit, feeling it rather took some of the romance out of the whole thing.

Fields rattled by outside, and soon the landscape was one he'd never passed through before. Strange villages and towns came and went, and the passengers around him changed with the coach stops. It seemed he was the only one going all the way to the city.

Gradually the scenery gave way to houses, and the road beneath the wheels became smoother and harder. It was already getting dark outside, as the year slid into winter, and the glow of streetlamps filled the window.

Alighting with some relief, and trying to stamp feeling back into his legs after the long, cramped journey, Zayn looked around with interest. The few other passengers from the last leg of the trip were hurrying off into the night, clearly with homes to go to, and he felt a sudden wave of loneliness. All around him, buildings were towering skywards, and even the air smelt different, of brick dust and tar with an underlying taint of drains.

Zayn shook himself. He had somewhere to go too, didn't he? Plucking up his courage and trying to sound like he knew what he was doing, he approached one of the small horse cabs waiting for business, and gave the address of his uncle's factory.

Perched in the back of the carriage, Zayn felt cold, tired and hungry. He'd eaten the roll Harry had given him and been grateful for it, but that had been hours back. He was looking forward to friendly faces and a hot meal. Adventures were all very well, but he'd be happy if they didn't involve another coach ride for the foreseeable future.

"Here we are lad." The driver reined in his horse and shouted back to Zayn, who struggled out hurriedly and nearly tripped over his bag. 

"Thank you. How much do I owe you?" 

The driver named a sum that was nearly all the money Zayn had on him, and his heart sank. His father had given him a small amount for expenses to tide him over, but Zayn hadn't expected it to go this quickly. He supposed the city was likely to be more expensive than at home, but even so. He wondered suddenly if the driver had taken him a long way round. It wasn't as if he'd known where he was going. The driver was eyeballing him stonily, and he handed over the money with a sigh.

As the carriage rattled away Zayn looked properly at his surroundings for the first time. He was standing outside a huge brick wall with a set of iron gates. On the gatepost was a sign with the company name, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was in the right place, although it all seemed very quiet. He'd imagined a city factory would be a noisy thing, all clattering machinery and raised voices. Maybe they'd stopped work for the day, he thought.

In the distance, a clock struck the hour, and Zayn counted carefully. Six o'clock. It felt later, in the darkness, and a fog was rising. He could hear barge horns sounding, and guessed there must be a river nearby. Other clocks, further away were chiming too, and the sound of horseshoes clipped past the end of the road, but here it was still oddly silent.

Seized by a sudden paranoid fear, Zayn leaned against the tall gate and pushed it open, running into the yard beyond. He stared up at the building before him in shock. Blank, dark windows stared back at him, four storeys high. The windows on the ground floor were shuttered, and the big main doors padlocked.

He walked up to the entrance anyway, and shook the chain futilely. The place was clearly abandoned, and had been for some time. Zayn sank down onto the steps and put his head in his hands. 

He didn't know how long he'd sat there, but suddenly a light was shining on him and Zayn blinked up into the face of a policeman.

"Alright son? What are you up to?" came the suspicious query, the lantern being held higher to examine Zayn's appearance. 

"I was supposed to meet someone here. My uncle," Zayn said weakly, wondering for a horrible moment if he was about to be arrested for loitering.

"Well this place has been shut up for months. Don't you know where he lives?"

Zayn shook his head mutely. His father's letter had been addressed here, he thought. They'd all just assumed it had arrived, that things would be okay. That the place might have closed without the rest of the family hearing of it was a possibility that had never occurred to any of them.

"Well you can't sit about here making the place look untidy," the policeman was saying. "Go on, off with you. You'll have to go back home."

"Yes sir." Zayn shouldered his bag wearily and walked back out of the factory yard. He felt numb with disappointment and shock. He had no idea what he was going to do. He didn't have enough money left for a cab to the coaching point, let alone all the way back home. Not enough to pay for a room for the night, either.

He looked back towards the factory, wondering if he could break in somehow and bed down for the night, but the policeman was standing outside the gates with his arms folded, watching him. Zayn sighed, and turned away.

Walking at least warmed him up, and gradually the streets became busier, firstly with coaches and horses and then with pedestrians. Shop windows threw an enticing glow across the pavement, and he stared longingly into the window of a cafe, the smell of hot chocolate wafting out making his stomach growl.

Zayn kept walking, not really knowing where he was going. After some time, rounding a corner, he found to his surprise that he'd arrived back at the coaching station. It was the last straw. Knowing that he had indeed literally been taken for a ride, when his destination had been closer than he ever imagined made his knees go all trembly and he sat down abruptly on a low wall. 

"How could you be so stupid?" he groaned to himself. It was a hard lesson, that people here might not be as kind or as honest as the folk he was used to. Zayn looked closely at the line of cabbies still waiting in line, but the one who'd gulled him wasn't there. Probably made enough to knock off for the night, Zayn thought bitterly, although he was secretly thankful he wouldn't have to confront him.

He counted out the coins left in his purse. Enough for a drink, and maybe something to eat, but then it would all be gone. He made up his mind. At least with a full belly he would feel better, and it would get him out of the cold. There was an inn across the street, and he stood up with a new sense of purpose.

\--

The inn was crowded and noisy, but at least it meant Zayn didn't feel conspicuous. He managed to find a tiny table at the back and a stool that was still free apparently due to its ability to wobble on all three legs, and sat there with a mug of beer and a pie, trying to make them last as long as possible. He had no idea what he was going to do when he was forced to leave. 

He'd wanted variety and adventure Zayn thought ruefully, and now he appeared to have more of it than he could cope with. He let his gaze roam curiously over the other occupants of the public bar. They were a mixed bunch, perhaps due to the vicinity of the coaching station; workmen still with the dirt of their trades clinging to their clothes, dandies with ridiculously outlandish clothing, women with painted faces and brash laughs who were so unlike any girls he knew back home that they fascinated him. 

All around him, men and women of all different sizes and colours and stations, mixing and drinking and arguing and laughing until he felt quite dizzy. He found that he liked it though, and as the drink warmed him from the inside, and the fug of the bar thawed his outside, he started enjoying himself for the first time in hours.

Across the room, a minstrel had set himself up on a tall stool, and was singing to the crowd, accompanying himself on a mandolin. He wasn't very good, and Zayn winced as note after note was aimed for, missed and mangled. The crowd clearly thought the same, and were getting noisier in their heckling of him. Things came to a head when one group, drunker than the rest, hurled a cabbage across the bar that hit the minstrel square in the chest, almost toppling him from his stool.

In a huff, he packed his instrument and stormed out to a chorus of catcalls and cheers. The barman was furious. "I'd paid him for the night, you bastards!"

"He was shite!" someone called back, and the bar exploded into laughter. Scowling, the barman stamped round the tables, scooping up empties and kicking chairs back into place. He arrived at Zayn's table and glared down at him. 

"Are you done?" 

"Um." Zayn tried to conceal the fact his mug was empty, but it was twitched out of his hand and added to the stack.

"Another, sir?"

"I, um." Zayn went red. He couldn't afford another, he had only pennies left in his purse.

"Well you can't stay here if you're not drinking," the barman declared. "Go on, hop it."

"I could sing?" Zayn found himself saying to his own horror. "If you need someone?"

"You what?" The barman stared at him suspiciously and Zayn nodded with a confidence he didn't feel. He might get cabbages thrown at him, but at least they'd be indoor, warm, dry cabbages he figured. Whereas if he was made to leave, it'd be a night on the streets. He might even freeze to death.

"I can't pay you," the barman said gruffly. "But there's a drink in it for you if you hold their attention." The crowd, deprived of their previous target, were getting rowdy again, and Zayn swallowed nervously. But he stood up, and nodded again. 

The barman shrugged. "Slip of a thing like you, they'll eat you alive. But go on then." He turned to the room in general and bellowed at them. "Alright, you rabble, shut it! Here's act two for you!"

Zayn made his way over to the vacated stool, feeling every eye in the room fixed on him. There were jeers and laughter, with a few wolf-whistles thrown in, from both men and women that made him blush to the tips of his ears. He wondered if he'd made a horrible mistake, but it was too late now. He was used to singing, but up to now it had only been in front of his family, at parties and festivals. He licked dry lips and looked up to face the crowd.

He immediately wished he hadn't. He'd never been stared at by so many people before, and his mind went blank. 

"Um," he said hesitantly, and the noise level immediately went up as the crowd scented weakness. 

"Ignore 'em darling. Go on." One of the barmaids pushed through the crowd and dropped a foaming mug at his elbow with a wink. He smiled in grateful surprise, and took a deep swallow of beer in search of courage. Her dark bobbing curls reminded him of someone, and he realised with a faint twinge of homesickness that it was Harry. He remembered his words - had it really only been that morning - and thought how smug he must have sounded, banging on about going off to seek his fortune. Well, this was it, and he wasn't going to fall at the first hurdle.

Zayn looked up again and fixed the crowd with a look. Suddenly there were lyrics back in his head, and with a deep breath he started to sing.

It was a country ballad, and at first he was drowned out by the general background noise. He compensated with more volume when he hit the chorus, and winced as he lost the tune a bit. This wasn't as easy as it looked, and he experienced a brief stab of sympathy for the departed minstrel. By the time he reached the chorus again though, a few people were tapping their feet and he felt encouraged. No-one had actually thrown anything at him yet, either.

Zayn finished the song and to his surprise received a smattering of applause. Before he could let himself think about it, he launched into another song, livelier this time, and then another. His third choice was a bawdy folk song that he'd never dared sing in front of his parents, but had heard the village men roaring out drunk after the tavern closed. It certainly went down well here, and his audience screeched with approving laughter after each increasingly filthy verse.

"There was a bonny milkmaid  
She'd lean upon her churn  
And all the village menfolk  
Would come and take their turn

Her grip was firm from milking  
Her wicked tongue was blunt   
She'd dip their brimming tankard,  
They'd spill it up her - front."

Zayn couldn't stop the blush spreading across his face, but the crowd loved it, and he found another mug of beer had arrived for him. He drank thirstily, feeling more than a little drunk and not quite sure if it was the alcohol or the unaccustomed feeling of people cheering him on.

He was running out of songs though, and took a gamble that they liked him well enough to listen to a ballad. There was a certain restless muttering after the first verse when people realised this wasn't going to be a funny one, but he closed his eyes and blocked it out, concentrating on the song. It was about unrequited love, sweet and sad, and he'd always liked it, although whether a rowdy inn full of sophisticated city people would feel the same remained to be seen. 

When it was over he opened his eyes nervously, braced to duck any flying vegetables that came his way. There was a short silence, as if the crowd weren't entirely sure what to make of it, then one person started clapping. Like a wave, the rest of the room took it up, and Zayn slid off the stool to a storm of applause and stamping. 

Feeling dizzy, he glanced up at the man who'd started the clapping as he hurried back to his seat. The man returned Zayn's look appraisingly, and Zayn dropped his eyes, embarrassed.

Sitting down, heart pounding, the same barmaid as before came over with a tankard.

"Another one? I must have done well," Zayn smiled at her, and she gave a short laugh. 

"This one's from _him_." To Zayn's surprise she tossed her head in the direction of the man who'd started the clapping. He acknowledged Zayn's look with a brief tip of his own drink and a rather cold smile before looking away, interest apparently at an end.

"That was kind," Zayn murmured. 

"Huh. You want to watch that one." She looked over her shoulder and leaned over to stage-whisper in Zayn's ear. "Into _unnatural vices_ , if you know what I mean duckie." 

Zayn blinked. He wanted to say that no, he didn't really know what she meant, but was afraid that would make him sound like a country bumpkin, so he just nodded sagely. When she'd moved off he looked back over at where the young man had been sitting with renewed interest, but was faintly disappointed to find the table was now empty.

Thanks to his performance, Zayn was allowed to stay at his table without comment for the rest of the evening, but when the inn closed up for the night he found himself back on the pavement. It was icy-cold now, the streets already glittering with frost, and he pulled his cloak around him tightly. 

In the warmth of the inn he'd resigned himself to a night spent in a doorway, but the reality of it made him shudder with something that was as much fear as cold. He was debating what to do when the clatter of horses made him look up, and a gleaming black carriage creaked to a stop in front of him.

The door opened, but no-one got out. Curious, Zayn stepped closer and looked inside. To his surprise, the mysterious man from the inn was looking down at him.

"Good evening. We meet again," he said, sounding faintly amused. Zayn wanted to say technically they hadn’t met once yet, but that sounded too rude. He managed a smile instead.

"Thank you for the drink," Zayn offered, when the silence stretched a little too long.

That cold smile again. "You deserved it. You're good. Perhaps better than you know." Another pause. "I'd like to hear you again, in fact. Would you accept an invitation to accompany me? To perform at my house?"

Zayn hesitated. The warning of the barmaid echoed in his head, and his recent treatment at the hands of the unscrupulous cabbie had left him cautious. But on the other hand, where else did he have to go? 

He looked up and down the empty road, and sighed. "Alright. Why not?"

The man smiled again, pleased. He held out a gloved hand and Zayn took it, letting himself be pulled up. Though physically slighter than Zayn, he proved to be entirely strong enough to haul him into the carriage.

As the carriage jolted back into movement, Zayn settled into the plush seat opposite his host and gave a tentative smile.

"What's your name?" 

"Zayn. Zayn Malik." He waited, but no response was forthcoming. "And you are?"

Cold blue eyes on him, for so long that Zayn started to feel embarrassed. This was clearly someone well known, that he had maybe offended by not recognising.

"You're not from round here, are you?" came the soft question. Zayn shook his head apologetically. 

"I've only just arrived."

"Seeking your fortune?" the man guessed, looking speculatively at Zayn's mud-spattered bag. "I'm afraid you'll find the streets are more likely to be paved with shit than gold round here."

"I was going to stay with my uncle," Zayn objected, stung.

"Was?" 

"He - he's shut up shop. I don't know where he's gone," Zayn confessed, wondering if it was a mistake to be so honest. But what choice did he have?

"So you're homeless?" That smile again, that made Zayn shiver slightly without knowing why.

"For the moment."

"Well, we'll have to see about that, won’t we?" He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. "I'm Lord Tomlinson, by the way. Patron of the Arts, man about town, general pillar of society." A twist of the lips, as if at some private joke. "But you can call me Louis."

\--

The carriage pulled up outside the grandest house Zayn had ever seen. His own house was one of the biggest in his home town, but it was a shed compared to this. He felt abruptly small and dirty and uncultured, but Louis took his arm and swept him up the steps and into the hall without a moment's hesitation.

Zayn looked round in awe at the tiled floor that stretched away into the house, the curving staircase, the glittering chandelier. 

"Like it?" Louis was watching him, and Zayn blushed.

"It's beautiful. Do many people live here?" You could fit half the townspeople into this space, Zayn thought. 

"Just me. Well, and the staff." Louis threw off his cloak and handed it to a grey-haired butler who'd appeared silently from somewhere, making Zayn jump. "Give him your things, it's alright."

Zayn followed Louis up through the house and into a lavishly decorated study. There was a fire in the hearth and lamps lit around the walls, and Zayn sank gratefully into the armchair that Louis indicated. 

Louis took a seat opposite, and watched him over steepled fingers. 

"Should I - did you want me to sing?" Zayn asked awkwardly, wondering if Louis was waiting for him to perform. But Louis waved the suggestion away with a careless hand.

"Plenty of time for that. Are you warm enough? Hungry?" Zayn shook his head. He was tired, more than anything. Louis rose and crossed to a gilded tray of bottles that gleamed with rich colours in the firelight, and poured two small glasses of something. He handed one to Zayn, and stayed next to him, perching on the arm of Zayn's chair.

"Drink this. It'll warm you from the inside out."

Zayn took a careful sip. It was thick and sweet and strong. He licked his lips, the liqueur coating his tongue, and looked up at Louis questioningly. 

"So." Louis drew the word out. "No place to go, hmmn?"

"No sir." 

Louis laughed. "You don't have to call me sir." He cocked his head. "Although I suppose you can if you want," he added with a smirk. He took a swallow of his own drink, and Zayn followed suit, feeling guilty for wondering however fleetingly if his glass had been drugged.

"I've got a proposition for you," Louis went on quietly. "And it's up to you if you want to accept. If you say no, you're entirely at liberty to walk out of here again, go and find your wayward family or whatever."

Zayn nodded carefully. 

"I'd like to offer you a bed for the night." Louis looked at him, expectantly.

"What's the catch?"

"What makes you think there's a catch?" Louis asked, although the smile was back. He was playing games, and seemed to be pleased that Zayn knew it.

"I might be fresh from the country, but I'm not daft. And you did rather imply there'd be a catch," Zayn told him.

"Mmn." Louis finished his drink. "A bed for the night." A pause, Zayn felt for dramatic effect rather than from any hesitation. "My bed."

Zayn had been half expecting this, but he still shivered slightly at the blatant suggestion. He wasn't entirely sure what Louis would expect of him if he accepted, but on the other hand how bad could it be? And the alternative - an icy doorway and no prospect of breakfast, always assuming he survived the night.

"Alright." 

Louis raised an eyebrow. "You're sure? Perhaps I should specify that I would, also, be in it."

Zayn smiled faintly. "I did assume that, yes."

"Oh. Well. Maybe this is more common out in the sticks than I thought?" Louis had gone back to sounding archly teasing. "Maybe you share a bed with six strapping brothers every night?" he added, with a note of wistfulness.

"I'm afraid not," Zayn told him. "Although you're free to imagine so, should you wish."

Louis gave a bark of laughter. "Oh, I _like_ you." He looked down at Zayn, and laid a hand on his arm. "You'll stay then? Freely?"

Zayn nodded, and made himself sit quite still as Louis bent to kiss him lightly but deliberately on the mouth. When Louis pulled back and got to his feet, Zayn ran his tongue over his lips. They tasted of the smoky-sweet liqueur, and he felt a prickle of nervous anticipation as Louis lead him from the room. 

\--

Up another floor, and into a room that to Zayn's mild relief turned out not to be Louis' bedroom, but an enormous bathroom.

"Thought you might want to freshen up a bit first," said Louis. "Come through here when you're done." He nodded at another door on the other side of the room, then paused, leaned towards Zayn and sniffed cautiously. "Take as long as you need," he added, and went out through the far door.

Left alone, Zayn lifted his arm and sniffed himself, wrinkling his nose. Louis had a point. He'd been travelling all day, then walking for ages, and finally sitting in a smoky public house. He'd smelt better. 

He started running a bath, wincing at the dirty fingermarks he left on the white porcelain. While it was filling, he prowled the room, looking in cupboards and picking up bottles with a sense of bewildered wonder. He'd hardly imagined houses like this existed outside of storybooks, and now he was staying in one.

Shutting off the water, Zayn peeled off his clothes with a nervous glance at the door. It didn't seem to have a lock, but on the other hand Louis hadn't indicated any intention to rejoin him. Unless there was a spyhole somewhere. 

Zayn bit his lip and climbed hastily into the bath, trying not to slosh the water over the side. It was hot and deep, and he relaxed at once, almost despite himself. 

Nothing in his life had ever felt quite as luxurious as that bath, and he lay there until the water started to go cold. He washed his hair with a handful of gloop from one of the bottles on the shelf and towelled himself dry. 

His own clothes, despite being his best, seemed somehow too shabby and dirty to put back on, so Zayn slipped into a pair of peacock blue silk pyjamas that had been laid out in a drawer. He examined himself in the mirror, sticking his tongue out at his reflection and feeling faintly ridiculous. He knew he was stalling for time, and also that Louis wouldn't be patient forever. 

Taking a deep breath, Zayn opened the second door, and stepped out into the room beyond.

This did prove to be Louis' bedroom, and he was sprawled on an opulent four-poster bed, wrapped in a pale grey robe, and reading a book. He put it down when Zayn appeared, and sat up, studying him hungrily.

Zayn wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. His feet were bare on the polished wooden floorboards, and he felt rather exposed.

"Come here," Louis ordered, but not unkindly. Zayn crossed the room to stand by the bed, toes sinking into a soft rug now, and stood there as Louis looked him over. 

Louis, too, seemed to have bathed, and Zayn wondered incredulously how many bathrooms this place had, and how rich he must be. 

"Looks good on you." Louis reached out to stroke the material between his fingers. "Take it off."

Zayn swallowed, fingers hesitating on the buttons of his pyjamas. Louis patted the bed next to him, and Zayn sat down, slowly unfastening his top as Louis nodded approval. 

It slid from his shoulders in a whisper of silk, and Louis leaned forwards, running a hand down Zayn's arm. His own robe fell open, and as far as Zayn could tell, he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Have you done this before?" Louis asked quietly. Zayn shook his head, and Louis smiled. "Good. I shall enjoy corrupting you then," he added with a soft, pleased laugh.

He let his hand slide up to the back of Zayn's neck, and leaned in to kiss him again. This time, Louis didn't pull away and Zayn felt the flicker of Louis' tongue against his lips. He parted them instinctively, feeling Louis immediately lick into his mouth. 

Zayn had kissed girls before - well, one - and hadn't thought it would be much different, but he'd been wrong. He'd never experienced such a bone-deep shiver of pleasure before from a kiss, or imagined how good it might feel to have a pair of such strong arms around him.

Pleased with the way Zayn had responded to his kiss, Louis lay him down against the bed, still kissing him. Louis was clearly already aroused, and as he drew his leg up to drape it over Zayn's, his robe fell open to expose his hard cock. 

Zayn couldn't stop the gasp that escaped him, but to his relief Louis just smirked.

"Like what you see?" Louis asked, almost a growl against his ear. "Want to touch?"

To his shame, Zayn found he did. It wasn't that relationships with men were exactly frowned on where he came from - it was more that as far as he was aware, they were non-existent. People grew up, got married, had kids. He'd known he didn't want that, without ever really being aware of an alternative. This though - what Louis was offering him - it scared him how much he wanted it.

He reached out with fingers that trembled, and curled them round Louis' warm, firm shaft. As Zayn began to stroke him, hesitant at first, then with more confidence, Louis kissed him again, starting with his lips, then trailing down his neck, his chest, his stomach. Eventually the angle of Louis' body meant Zayn had to release his grip, but by now he was hard himself, and Louis showed no sign of stopping. He lowered his mouth to Zayn's groin, mouthing over the bulge in the silk trousers, leaving wet marks where his tongue slid across the fabric.

Zayn was breathing fast, too turned on to be nervous any more, and didn't object as Louis pulled the pyjama bottoms gently down his legs.

Louis made an appreciative noise at the sight of Zayn's rigid cock, running a hand up it and kissing the tip. "You're beautiful," he breathed, and Zayn laughed, going red. He didn't know how to reply, whether he should be complimenting Louis in turn. 

He could, easily, Louis was a gorgeous creature, and his naked body, visible in glimpses beneath a robe that promised more than it concealed, seemed equally appealing. But this was all new to him, and the words felt too awkward on his tongue. Louis didn't seem to mind though, kissing him again on the mouth and letting the robe slide from his body so Zayn could see him from head to foot.

When Louis lay down on top of him, erection sliding against the length of his own, he let out a shaky sigh. Louis let the fingers of one hand tangle with Zayn's above his head, and caressed his body with the other.

"Okay?" Louis whispered, and Zayn nodded jerkily. It was, it was incredible, but it was also strange, and new, and he felt vulnerable and a little lost. For a long time though, Louis just kissed him and touched him in ways that left Zayn panting and whimpering for more. 

When Louis finally pulled back, Zayn let out a moan of protest. He'd been so close to coming from Louis' attentions, and he didn't want to stop. Louis grinned down at him. His aloofness of earlier had melted away, but he retained a slight edge of superiority that Zayn longed to wipe from his face.

"Ready?" Louis breathed.

Zayn frowned, not following. "Ready for what?"

Louis looked at him assessingly for a second, and clearly came to the conclusion that Zayn really didn't know what he meant. "For sex?" he smirked. 

"Um. Right." Zayn lay there looking up at him, wondering what the hell they'd been doing for the last half hour if it hadn't been sex. And what Louis had in mind. 

"Bloody hell. You really have lead a sheltered life, haven't you?" Louis gave a peal of laughter, and Zayn sat up, feeling defensive. 

"I'm sorry if I'm not up to your usual standards," he said frostily, and Louis wrapped his arms round him and bore him back down to the sheets. 

"I'm sorry," Louis murmured, kissing him all the way down his throat. "I'm not laughing at you." He smiled, slow and lazy. "Do you trust me?"

Zayn eyed him warily, not entirely sure of the answer. But Louis had given him no reason to be afraid, had only made him feel good so far, so he shrugged. "Suppose so."

It was enough for Louis. There was an ornately carved table by the bed and he reached out to lift a small bottle from the clutter on its surface. "Lie back. And try to relax," he advised. 

If anything, Louis' words made Zayn tense slightly, but he said nothing, content to wait and see what happened. He watched as Louis poured something into the palm of his hand and slicked his cock with it until it glistened all over, sticking up between his legs invitingly. 

Zayn caught a faint smell of spice from the oil, warm and exotic. He shifted restlessly, heart beating faster in anticipation. He still wasn't entirely clear what was happening, but the intent look on Louis' face and the way he was handling himself made Zayn's skin tighten with want.

Louis settled beside him, meeting his gaze. "Turn over," he instructed. Zayn did as he was told, sprawling face down on the crisp sheet, arm curled over the pillow. When he felt Louis' hand come to rest between his legs Zayn parted them obediently, letting Louis' fingers stroke up his inner thigh.

The exploring fingers moved higher, sliding between the cheeks of his arse and rubbing unexpectedly over his hole. Zayn twitched, trying to move away but Louis' other hand wrapped around his hip, holding him in place. A finger was back, slippery with the oil, the tip teasing at his entrance.

"Louis? I - what are you - ?" Zayn tried to look round, unsure about this new development.

"Shhh." Louis kissed him on the small of his back, trailed biting kisses up the ridge of Zayn's spine that made him shudder and rut helplessly against the sheet below him. It took him a second to process the fact that Louis' finger had pushed right inside him, and Zayn gave a huff of startled breath, clenching around it defensively.

"Easy," Louis murmured. "Easy. It's alright. Just let me do this. I won't hurt you."

Zayn forced himself to relax again, biting down on his lip as Louis started to move his finger, thrusting it in and out, gently at first then when Zayn didn't object pushing faster and deeper. It was a strange sensation and Zayn felt his face burning with embarrassment, but Louis had at least been right that it didn't hurt particularly. 

It felt like he was just starting to get into it when Louis withdrew his finger completely, and Zayn groaned in muffled exasperation. It seemed as if every time he was on the brink of orgasm Louis was determined to deny him. He'd barely had time to process this though, when he felt Louis' cock nudging between his legs and gave a hiccup of alarm as he realised what was coming next. 

"Hey!" Zayn tried to look round. Louis was lying against his back now, biting idly along his shoulderblades.

"What?" 

Zayn could hear the smirk in Louis' tone. "What are you doing?" He'd meant it to sound commanding, but his voice came out nervous and unsure.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Louis' cock was pressed against his hole now, Zayn could feel the slick, blunt head stretching him open and he gasped at the sudden sting of pain.

"What the fuck? You can't!" Zayn's fingers clawed into the pillow as he felt Louis' hard length slide slowly into his body. "Ohh." He buried his face in the cool cotton, trying to block out the agony. 

After a moment or two he became aware that Louis was murmuring to him, and as the white noise in his head gradually faded, realised it was a litany of reassurances, soothing nonsense and comforting lies, as if Zayn was a child with night terrors. The realisation made him ashamed, and he noticed too that his whole body was locked rigid with tension.

Taking a deep breath, Zayn made himself relax again. To his relief, some of the pain faded with it, and he opened his eyes, blinking wetness from his lashes.

"Zayn?" Louis felt the change in him but remained still, buried to the balls in Zayn's tight hot body, but holding himself in check. "Okay?"

"You could have warned me," Zayn managed, pleased at least that his voice sounded stronger again. He felt Louis laugh, a pleased chuckle that seemed to roll right through his body.

"You might have said no." Louis kissed him again, and it felt like an apology. "May I?" he added, after a pause. Zayn took a few shuddering breaths, and nodded. 

When Louis started to move inside him it brought a fresh wave of pain that made Zayn give an involuntary whimper of protest, but it wasn't all bad. Under the pain was a growing heat that seemed to spread throughout his body, and he was quickly hard again himself. Louis' arms were tight around him, his breath hot between Zayn's shoulders as he bucked into him, driving his cock between Zayn's legs in a fast, urgent rhythm. 

Zayn found it hard to catch his breath and his knees felt weak and shaky. He was helpless beneath Louis' pounding body but he found he didn't mind, that it felt increasingly, guiltily amazing. He felt his climax building for the third time that night, and this time Louis didn't stop, didn't pull away, just kept thrusting into him. 

The friction and pressure of Louis' cock inside him alone was almost enough to send him over the edge, but then Louis did something with it that made Zayn see stars and it felt like his entire body exploded with sensation. Before he knew it, he was coming into the sheet in long wet spurts and moaning aloud as he rode out his orgasm.

He was still shaking with pleasure when he felt Louis come inside him, a hot rush that felt disgustingly incredible, while Louis' fingers dug into his hips hard enough to leave marks.

Panting, they collapsed to the bed side by side. Zayn felt sore and shaky, but there was a disbelieving grin on his face that refused to move. He'd never imagined it was possible to feel like this, and the sense of having done something illicit, forbidden, made it seem all the sweeter.

As the afterglow slowly faded, a creeping doubt entered his mind. Now that Louis had got what he wanted, would Zayn still be welcome to stay? He'd promised him a bed for the night, but what if he decided to throw him out?

Zayn risked a look over at Louis and blushed when he found he was being watched.

"You okay?" Louis asked quietly. Zayn nodded, and he smiled, looking relieved. "I wasn't sure if - if I'd hurt you."

"You did," Zayn told him flatly, but smiled back. "I guess that's okay though."

Louis shook his head and reached out to him, a little hesitantly, as if uncertain that Zayn would want to be touched. When Zayn rolled willingly into his arms, Louis hugged him close in pleased surprise. 

"I'm greedy, and impatient, and probably a bastard," Louis murmured against Zayn's hair. "And I knew you were a virgin and I took you hard anyway." 

"Is that an apology or a boast?" Zayn asked, and Louis snorted with laughter.

"Did I mention how much I liked you?"

Zayn flushed red, but there was still a pleased smile on his lips. Louis kissed him questioningly, and Zayn responded with an eagerness that left them both half-hard again. 

"I thought you might turn me out," Zayn confessed later, lying in the circle of Louis' arms. Louis looked surprised. 

"Did you take me for _that_ much of a bastard?" He kissed Zayn's nose, making him laugh. "Not everyone wants to stay," Louis confessed after a second. "Or to snuggle."

Zayn experienced a sudden cold spike of wondering if he was presuming too much. Louis had only taken him in for a fuck, he realised that - but here he was cuddling up to him like some naive country boy in love. He tried to sit up, but Louis wouldn't let him.

"Oi! I like snuggling. It wasn't a complaint," Louis objected, kissing him again. "Stay there." He frowned. "If you want, anyway?"

Zayn nodded, yawning. "I want," he mumbled, feeling Louis' arms tighten briefly around him. He yawned again, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. It felt like this had been the longest day of his life, and although he'd enjoyed the last couple of hours he was secretly grateful that it seemed to be over, and that he could finally slide into sleep.

\--

Zayn awoke the next morning to find himself alone in the bed. He sat up gingerly, wincing as his body protested. Winter sunlight was flooding into the room through a pair of tall windows, the curtains drawn back. 

A silver coffee pot steamed gently on the table next to the bed, and Zayn poured himself a cup thankfully. He let his eyes roam over the rest of the objects on the table, remembering with a hot flush the events of the previous night, but there was no sign of the little bottle of oil.

When no-one appeared, to either tell him to leave or otherwise, Zayn made his way back into the bathroom and ran another bath. He sank into the water with a groan of relief, his aching body grateful for the blissful warmth. 

He lay there sleepily running over what had happened in his mind. It had certainly been an education. Zayn soaped himself, stretching the kinks out of his muscles, and discovering a thumb-print sized bruise on his hip. His cock gave a twitch at the memory, and he started stroking himself lazily, his erection rising steadily in the water until he remembered his paranoia about there being a spyhole somewhere, and climbed hastily out of the bath.

Wrapped in a towel he went back into the bedroom, to discover that someone had been in to remove the tray of coffee and leave a neatly folded pile of his clothes, which proved to be all freshly laundered. Zayn felt a flush of relief that he hadn't got up to anything worse in the bathroom, with a silent visitor being just the other side of the door.

Zayn dressed quickly, and then realised he didn't know what to do. He supposed he had two options - try and find his uncle, or make his way home. Both were going to be tricky with no money. He wondered if Louis would lend him some, but the thought of asking was too embarrassing. Besides, Louis had vanished, and Zayn had no idea if he was supposed to leave discreetly in the meantime.

Venturing out of the bedroom by the other door, Zayn found himself back in the corridor. He was trying to find the staircase when a quiet cough behind him made him spin round guiltily. The elderly gentleman that had taken Louis' coat the night before had appeared silently behind him.

"Oh. Hello," Zayn stuttered, blushing. "Um - could you tell me - that is - I'm not sure what I - should be doing?" he finished weakly.

The man inclined his head slightly. "If you'd follow me, sir?"

Zayn nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and shame, imagining he was to be escorted from the premises, and wondering what the old retainer thought of him.

To his surprise, he was shown into another bedroom. It was smaller than Louis', but just as comfortably furnished. 

"His Lordship instructed that you were to be given the use of this room, sir, if you should wish it."

Zayn gaped at him. "Really? I mean, um, thank you. Um. What should I - do, exactly?"

The butler raised a neutral eyebrow. "Anything you wish sir, I imagine." He bowed slightly and withdrew, closing the door behind him. 

Zayn sank down onto the couch, feeling winded. He hadn't expected an invitation to stay, which he assumed this was, if somewhat obliquely. It certainly solved his immediate problems. Zayn wondered if sleeping with Louis - as he presumed would be expected - in return for a roof over his head was in some way shameful or degrading, and quickly decided that he didn't care. Louis had introduced him to a world of experiences he was very keen to learn more of.

After a couple of hours that Zayn spent mostly dozing on the bed, still tired from his journey the day before, the same butler brought in a tray of lunch for him. He considered asking where Louis was, or if he could come down and sit in the kitchen and talk, but in the end was too shy to do either. 

As the day passed Zayn started to feel increasingly anxious. Louis hadn't returned, and he was starting to second guess himself, wondering if he should leave after all, or if Louis would be annoyed to find him still here.

It was dark outside when he heard the sound of carriage wheels crunching over gravel, and he pulled the heavy drapes back enough to see Louis climbing down in a pool of lamplight. Zayn spent the next ten minutes pacing up and down fretfully, wondering if he should go to find him, or if Louis would come here. He'd presumably at least been told that Zayn was still in residence.

Zayn was starting to decide Louis wasn't going to come at all when the door opened and there he was. He'd removed his cloak but there were raindrops still caught in his hair, and his cheeks were flushed with cold.

"Zayn." Louis smiled and crossed the floor to him, taking his hands. Louis' fingers felt frozen, and Zayn instinctively closed his own around them. "I'm glad you're still here."

"You are? I mean - I wasn't sure, if I should - you know, go?" Zayn mumbled, stumbling awkwardly over his words. But Louis shook his head and grinned. 

"Oh no. I've got plans for you, after all." He ignored Zayn's questioning look, still grinning in a maddening fashion. "Hungry?" he asked instead, pulling Zayn towards the door without waiting for an answer.

A few minutes later they were seated in a huge dining room, a vast table stretching out before them. They were the only ones present, and Louis shrugged, finally looking faintly apologetic. 

"I usually eat in one of the parlours if it's just me. I guess I wanted to show off," he admitted, and Zayn laughed, comforted by Louis' confession. It made him seem less intimidating somehow. Louis could only be a few years older than him at most, but he had the confidence that went with old money, and was certainly more experienced in if not the ways of the world then at least the ways of the city. 

As they ate, Zayn relaxed into his company. Louis talked about his day spent in what seemed to be a flurry of appointments with people and in places that Zayn had never heard of, but that Louis tossed out in such a way it was clear he expected them to be familiar. Zayn just let him talk, smiling and nodding when it seemed appropriate, and savouring the delicious food in front of him.

Louis finally ground to a stop, and took a deep drink of his wine to cover the sudden silence. "Sorry," he said, looking embarrassed. "Am I boring you? You should shut me up if I am."

"No!" Zayn shook his head firmly. "I just - it can be a bit hard to follow when I only arrived in town yesterday."

Louis opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again as the butler came in to clear away the plates. "I hope Albert looked after you?" he said instead in a loud voice. Zayn went red, but the man took not the slightest bit of notice, and left the room again to the sound of Louis' laughter.

"Does he - you know. Mind me being here?" Zayn asked tentatively.

"Albert? Nah." Louis poured them both more wine. "He's known me since I was a baby. He's used to me." Louis smiled fondly. "Used to work for my father."

"And now he works for you?"

Louis' smile turned a little wistful. "Only me left," he said softly. 

"Oh." Zayn stared at him, wrongfooted. He might find his own family a pain at times, but he couldn't imagine being without them, his wonderful mother, his strict father, his noisy sisters. He reached out and touched Louis' hand. "I'm sorry."

Louis looked surprised, as if he'd forgotten Zayn was there for a second. "It's okay. I guess that's maybe why I like the theatre so much. Like a big extended family." He grinned, happy again. "You should have seen some of the parties this room has witnessed!"

"Oh, yes. You said you were a - patron?" Zayn remembered.

Louis nodded. "Plays, revues, musicals - singers." He looked at Zayn over the rim of his glass. "How about it?"

"Me?" Zayn was startled.

"You. You impressed me, last night," Louis told him, with a wicked smirk. "And not just in bed."

Zayn choked on his food and had to wash it down hastily with a mouthful of wine. He put down his knife and fork. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." Louis shook his head. "You could be big. I can get you there. You just have to want it." Louis slid his hand across to cover Zayn's. "And if you want - anything else, well that's a bonus. But it's not a condition." He smiled. "Contrary to popular rumour I don't screw _everyone_ I mentor."

"Well I imagine it'd take too long what with some of the cast sizes," Zayn suggested and it was Louis' turn to choke with laughter.

"So are you in?"

Zayn nodded slowly. "Yes. I guess I am." He smiled. "For everything."

Louis cocked a knowing eyebrow and Zayn slapped him on the arm, making him laugh again.

"So..." Louis leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. "Maybe we should skip dessert...?"

"Maybe we should have dessert - for dessert," Zayn amended, not feeling entirely sure that that made sense but making it sound suggestive enough that Louis promptly dragged him out of his seat and out of the room.

\--

The next morning after breakfast, Louis lead Zayn into a part of the house he hadn't seen before, and pushed open the doors of what proved to be an empty ballroom. Zayn looked around with wide eyes at the polished floor and gleaming chandeliers, his footsteps echoing across the empty space. 

Louis halted him at one end with firm hands on his shoulders, then walked a short distance away to throw himself onto a couch in one of the window bays.

"Right. Show me what you can do," he ordered. Zayn looked confused, and Louis waved an impatient hand. "Sing for me."

"Oh. Right." Zayn cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. "Er - what should I sing?"

"Anything, for now. If you're going to be a star I need to know where we're starting from."

Zayn licked his lips, feeling exposed and silly. Somehow the vast empty space and Louis' scrutiny made him more anxious than a crowd of people paying him little attention.

He cleared his throat and started to sing one of the ballads that he'd sung in the inn. He was half a verse in when Louis stood up and waved his arms for him to stop. 

"That's no good, you look terrified," Louis declared. "Come on, I've seen you do better. Head up, back straight and remember to breathe." He pulled Zayn into the position he wanted while he was speaking, then gave him an encouraging pat on the bottom. "Sing to the back of the room, not your navel. Cute though it is," he added, and Zayn gave a nervous laugh.

"Sorry. I'll start again?"

Louis nodded approval and started walking slowly backwards away from him as Zayn began to sing. This time he let Zayn run right through; by the time he'd finished Louis was at the far side of the ballroom, and Zayn's volume had gone up several levels to compensate.

Louis came back, wagging his head from side to side assessingly. "Not bad. Again."

"Same song?" Zayn asked, surprised.

"Yes."

This time Louis interrupted him four times, making Zayn adjust his posture, and feet, and pitch. When he finally made it to the end of the song, Louis had his lips pursed thoughtfully and Zayn sighed.

"If I'm no good, you can say so you know," he said resignedly.

Louis looked surprised. "Well, you've got confidence issues and nobody's ever taught you how to breathe properly, and if you're going to sing in town you'll need to learn entirely new songs, but - " He took in Zayn's increasingly dejected looking expression and took hold of his hands, smiling.

"But your voice? Is beautiful. And if I didn’t think you had what it takes I wouldn’t be wasting my time on you." 

Zayn gaped at him. He'd truly expected Louis to tell him he was no good, and that he'd changed his mind. 

Louis held his gaze, serious for a moment. "Can you take instruction? Without taking it personally, I mean? If we're going to do this, you'll need to take on board what I say, and it won’t all be flattering."

Zayn nodded quickly. "Yes. If you think I can do it, then I want to. And I want to be the best."

"Good." Louis' solemn expression cracked into a grin, and he pulled Zayn into an unexpected hug. "It will be fun too. I promise!" 

\--

The next few weeks passed in a blur for Zayn. Mornings were spent in singing practice, learning technique and presentation, going over and over the same points until he wanted to scream in frustration. Afternoons were spent either in learning new songs, or in exercising - running and boxing sessions in the ballroom, or riding horses in the park. 

Gradually he began to notice it paying off. Louis was teaching him to approach singing as if it was a sport, that the physical side of it was as important as the vocal, and as his stamina and lung capacity increased he found the notes coming more easily and that his confidence was growing accordingly.

In the evenings, Louis often took him to the theatre to watch plays and singers and pointed out people and songs and methods to him as an addition to his training. Zayn fell in love with these shows, the romance of it seemed to be everything he'd ever dreamed of stuck in his little town and now he couldn't wait for it to be his turn under the lights. He'd fall asleep with the applause still ringing in his ears, and long for the day when it was all for him.

He'd imagined that Louis might want him to start small, perhaps singing in more inns or local halls to get a feel for performing, but the days wore on and still Louis kept him back. When Zayn pressed the question, Louis just grinned.

"I've got something in mind for you," was all he would say, and Zayn had to be content with that and trust him.

At night he still shared Louis' bed. Louis proved to be both willing teacher and generous lover, and Zayn quickly came to worship him, although he was under no illusions that he was anything but the latest in a long line of lovers.

Louis seemed to have an open door policy for any of his circle who were passing or in need of company, food or gossip, and a constant stream of colourful people came and went at all hours of the day and night. 

Zayn's only mild disappointment was that at these times Louis never seemed to introduce him with anything more than a casual wave of the hand and dismissive muttering of his name. He wasn't naive enough to expect Louis would present him as his lover or close companion, but he had thought Louis might want to at least acknowledge his presence if he was supposed to be promoting him.

More than once Zayn wondered if it was all a pretence, if Louis had no intention of making him a star and was only keeping him around to fuck him. It hurt slightly to be kept in the shadows like this, particularly when he would have willingly slept with Louis for nothing.

On the whole though, Zayn conceded that he didn't have much to complain about. He was really having the time of his life and days passed in a blur of new experiences. Louis kept his promise and showed him the city, from the most lavish restaurants where Zayn learned how to eat complicated dishes with the right cutlery and order the right wines, to the seediest playhouses where they sat in the dark eating sweets, heckling the performers and fondling each other beneath the folds of their cloaks.

What with lessons and training and excursions Zayn had little enough time to feel homesick, but one day when Louis had vanished from the house without a word of explanation, Zayn curled up in one of the window seats to watch the silent snow coming down outside and wondered what everyone was doing. 

Louis was his only friend here in the city; when he wasn't around Zayn had no-one else to talk to. He suddenly realised just how much missed the closeness of his family, missed going to borrow books from Liam and talking for hours, missed meeting Harry for hasty lunches hidden in the fields when he managed to sneak out from the bakery, missed the evenings they'd spent sharing an illicit flagon of cider under the bridge. It all seemed like a very long way away, and he sighed quietly. 

Zayn had written to his family to let them know he was alright, and where he was staying. He'd swiftly had a letter back from his father, ordering him to come home at once. He'd ignored it, and a week or so later had received one from his mother, hoping that he was still safe and begging him to stay in touch. 

As a compromise, when he'd written back it had been to his sisters, sending them a box of gifts that Louis had helped him pick out and then insisted on paying for. He'd also insisted on giving Zayn a small amount each week, calling it a training allowance, although in practice Louis paid for almost everything anyway.

Zayn was starting to feel guilty about that money, knowing that he wasn't really doing anything to justify it. He wanted to make his own way in life, and he was starting to feel awkwardly like a kept man.

When Louis' coach finally pulled back into the driveway before the house, Zayn was waiting for him in the hall.

"We need to talk."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Sounds ominous. Albert, there's about sixty million parcels in the coach, be a love and bring them in would you?"

The butler, who'd appeared from the kitchen door to take Louis' cloak looked at him disfavourably. "All balanced on my nose, or would it be alright with his lordship if I borrowed a wheelbarrow?"

"The nose, I'd say," Louis grinned, unabashed. He took Zayn's arm and ushered him into the library, stamping his feet in front of the fireplace to restore feeling. "Perishing out there. Remind me to send Albert next time I have errands."

Zayn fought back a smile. Louis' imperious attitude to his elderly butler had shocked him at first, until he'd come to realise they were actually genuinely fond of each other, and that Albert took precisely no notice of Louis' nonsense unless it suited him. He'd discovered the below stairs staff also included a housekeeper and two strapping kitchen boys, so Albert wasn't in imminent danger of doing his back in either. But Louis enjoyed appearing to shock, and Zayn wondered how many others had got close enough to him to realise it was mostly a front.

"So?" Louis leaned against the mantelpiece, looking guardedly enquiring. "What is it you need so desperately to talk about?"

"I need to do something."

"What?"

"Anything! Just - I'm just living here, off your generosity, and I should be giving something back!" 

Louis smirked, and Zayn glared at him. "Not that, either! Seriously Louis, is that all I am to you? Because if it is, then at least do me the courtesy of being honest about it!"

For a moment Louis said nothing, and Zayn looked away miserably, his brief flash of anger fading as quickly as it had arisen. He knew he'd just sounded horribly ungrateful, and felt sick at the thought. But then hands were on his shoulders, turning him, and Louis was folding him into his arms.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" Louis asked quietly. 

Zayn shrugged, feeling stupid. He buried his face in Louis' shoulder, glad that Louis at least didn’t seem angry. Louis hugged him hard, and kissed the side of his head.

"Why didn't you say something? I thought you trusted me?"

Zayn took a deep breath. "I suppose I was afraid what the answer would be," he confessed.

Louis shook his head despairingly. "Tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow what?"

"Your launch into high society." Louis pushed him back, holding him by the shoulders and studying his face. "I like to throw a party around this time of year. With a little surprise for the guests. And this year - you're it."

"I don't have to jump out of a cake or something do I?" Zayn muttered.

Louis grinned. "No. Nothing like that. You just have to sing. Like an angel. I've been keeping you out of the spotlight for a reason Zayn. You're going to hit this city out of nowhere, and you're going to be the darling of the season. I promise."

Zayn gave a shaky laugh. "Sorry. You must think I'm a complete twat."

"No. If I've given you the wrong impression, then that's my fault, and I'm sorry," Louis said. "Come here." He pulled Zayn back into his arms and kissed him, long and slow.

\--

The next morning Zayn was rudely awoken by Louis yanking the covers off him and leaping out of bed. 

"Come on, get up, party day, lots to do!" 

Zayn groaned and tried to burrow under the pillow. "It's still dark!" Louis slapped him on his exposed bottom and he yelped. "Oi! Gerroff."

"Get up then lazy bones. This house isn't going to decorate itself you know."

"Neither are you," Zayn pointed out, sitting up and pulling the blanket back up with a shiver. "You've got an army of minions."

"Who says?"

"You did. Last night. Some time between the clock striking one in the morning and you demanding that we screw for a third time."

"Don't remember you complaining," Louis grinned.

"That was before I knew I'd have to get up this bloody early!" Zayn groused, hanging on for grim death as Louis tried to twitch the blanket away again. In truth, he was suddenly nervous. Today was the day he would finally have to sing in front of a crowd, and if he fucked up he would humiliate not just himself but Louis. He was abruptly glad Louis hadn't told him earlier, giving him longer to worry.

"Fine. But if you're not up in twenty minutes I'm sending Albert after you," Louis retorted, striding naked out of the room.

Once he was gone Zayn dragged himself reluctantly out of bed and into the bathroom. When he emerged he discovered a tray of breakfast on the table and a package wrapped in brown paper and string on the bed. 

He sat down, turning it over in his hands. He recognised his eldest sister's writing on the label and untied it with fingers that shook slightly, fighting off the sudden urge to run away home.

It held letters from all his family as well as a rather holey woollen hat apparently knitted by his smallest sister. There was also a twist of waxed paper giving off a warm spiced smell that sent him back with a jolt to sheltering in the bakery on a rainy winter's afternoon while the Styles family set out the shelves with festive treats.

Zayn unwrapped it quickly, and found it contained a batch of biscuits, smelling of nutmeg and cinnamon and ginger. He held one to his lips, just breathing in the scent for a moment and feeling unbelievably lonely. 

Scanning the letters quickly, he found what he was looking for at the bottom of his mother's. The biscuits had been included by Harry himself, who had apparently asked her to send them on, on the grounds the city might have everything else, but it wouldn't have bakers as good as him.

Zayn bit his lip hard, but he was smiling. Knowing that people back home were thinking of him made him feel less alone, and he took a deep breath, determining that come what may, tonight he would be the best he could be.

When Louis came in a few minutes later he frowned to see Zayn still undressed, but sat beside him without comment. "Okay?" he asked, when Zayn didn't speak.

"Yeah." Zayn blew out a sigh and leaned over to kiss him. "Yeah, I am. Let's do this." 

\--

The house was full of people Zayn had never seen before, hanging garlands of greenery and berries everywhere, carrying enormous trays of food to and fro, covering everything in sparkles and glitter until it looked like the frost had crept right through the house. 

Albert appeared to be in his element, directing operations with a steely eye and exacting requirements, while Louis drifted from group to group, contradicting instructions and generally getting in the way with a huge smile on his face. 

In the afternoon, to his alarm, Zayn was handed over to a woman with terrifyingly large hair and eye makeup that looked like a bird had flown into her face. She ignored his protests and shut him in one of the bathrooms, where she proceeded to spend almost two hours cutting and styling his hair and shaving him to within an inch of his dignity. 

When she produced a basket of cosmetics he tried to escape, but she was having none of it and clamped a hand round his arm that had the strength of a slaughterman. Resigned to his fate, Zayn closed his eyes and let it happen, but when eventually she told him he could look in the mirror he was taken by surprise. 

He'd expected theatrical greasepaint and the look of a painted doll, but it wasn’t that at all. In fact, the actual makeup was almost invisible, but had somehow accentuated his own features, making his eyes bigger and darker, his cheekbones sharper, his lips softer.

"Not as bad as you were expecting?" his tormentor asked slyly. Zayn flushed. 

"Thank you. I look - " 

"Amazing," she said with finality. "Go on, off with you. They'll be wanting to dress you."

He escaped into the bedroom, where a tailor was waiting to dress him in a beautifully cut suit and a silk shirt so white it almost hurt his eyes. 

Downstairs, guests were starting to arrive and he felt his stomach lurch. He wanted to see Louis, to be held and reassured, but knew Louis would be busy playing host. They'd been through Zayn's grand entrance in detail that morning, and he wasn't to appear until all the guests were assembled. Which meant a considerable wait, and it was doing nothing for his state of mind.

When the door opened unexpectedly behind him Zayn physically jumped with fright, he was wound up so tightly. 

"Albert." He sighed with mingled relief and disappointment. 

"Master Zayn." Albert handed him a glass of wine from the tray he was carrying. "From his Lordship. He says you can have one for the nerves, but no more."

Zayn took it gratefully, with a laugh. "He's a hard man," he joked, before realising how that sounded and blushing. But Albert just inclined his head.

"So I'm given to understand, sir," he murmured, before withdrawing again and leaving Zayn to himself.

Zayn was overtaken by a fit of the giggles and had to sit on the bed, silently quivering with laughter at how ridiculous his life had become.

It was another hour of waiting before the door opened again and Albert reappeared. 

"It's time," he said. Zayn got to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror to make sure his clothes were straight. 

"Will I make him proud, Albert?"

"You already do, sir."

Zayn looked up in surprise, and smiled. He nodded, slowly. "Lead on then."

As they approached the grand staircase Zayn felt unpleasantly like his balls were trying to crawl up into his throat. He could hear the rustle and chatter of the gathered guests below and started finding it hard to breathe.

"Wait until the music starts, then make your entrance," Albert advised, then hesitated. "And - good luck. Not that you need it, sir." He gave Zayn a rare smile, and disappeared in the direction of the back stairs, to reappear in the hallway a moment later at Louis' elbow. A word in his ear, and Louis nodded towards the musicians gathered at the edge of the crowd.

Just beyond the turn of the stairs, Zayn heard them strike up and wished he'd been to the loo one last time. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to walk out where he could be seen. They'd been over and over this, he was to come out into view, pause, descend to the first landing, and then sing. But practising in an empty hallway hadn't prepared him for the sight of so many faces looking up at him. 

Zayn had had simply no idea of the sheer number of people Louis had invited. What had always felt like an enormous and echoing space was crammed full of men and women in expensive finery, drinking and laughing and above all _staring_.

He finally managed to make his legs work, and somewhat to his surprise achieved the landing without stumbling or passing out. The murmur of the crowd lessened as people waited expectantly to see what he would do. Zayn wondered how many people had been here before him, providing Louis' yearly surprise, and for that matter how many of them were down in that hall right now.

Zayn could barely hear the music over the rushing in his ears, but then he found Louis in the crowd and his breath caught in his throat. Louis was gazing up at him with a look of such pleasure that Zayn could hardly believe it was meant for him. There was no anxiety in Louis' face, no worry that Zayn might fuck up, and he drew confidence from that, standing up a little straighter. 

The string quartet seemed to sense his readiness, and Zayn recognised the opening bars of the song he was meant to sing. No bawdy tavern rhymes tonight, just a well known love song that the crowd would enjoy.

With his eyes fixed on Louis' like a drowning man clings to a rock, Zayn started singing. For the whole of the first verse Louis stayed with him, not glancing away for a second, not even blinking. When Zayn paused to draw breath, Louis gave him a slight nod and a smile to let him know he was doing okay, and the terror eased enough that for the rest of the song Zayn could look up and out over the crowd, making eye contact here and there, and smiling as people gazed up at him.

When it was over the applause was deafening, and Zayn gripped the banister with both hands, dizzy with disbelief. He'd been supposed to come down the rest of the stairs to join Louis, but he'd been standing there so long that Louis climbed up to the landing, grinning.

"Ladies and gentlemen. May I present Mr Zayn Malik. I hope you will take him all to your hearts as much as I have, and I look forward to showing you what else he has up his sleeve in a short while. But for now, can I just say welcome to you all, and if you'd like to make your way into the ballroom, we can start the serious drinking!" 

There was laughter and more applause, for both Louis and Zayn, and this time Zayn managed to take it in, bowing slightly in acknowledgement.

As the guests filtered through into the rooms beyond, Louis slid an arm round Zayn's waist. 

"You were stunning."

"Was I okay? Really?"

"Really. Couldn't you tell? They loved you. I told you they would."

Zayn laughed weakly. "To be honest it's all a blur. I can't remember any of it."

"Well, there'll be plenty more memories to be made," Louis told him, surreptitiously squeezing his arse. "If you're ready for them?"

Zayn nodded. "I think I am."

Louis took his arm, and escorted him into the party where he proceeded to introduce him to so many people that Zayn's head was soon swimming with the effort of trying to remember them all.

"Don't worry," Louis whispered, when Zayn told him as much. "The important thing is that they remember _you_."

When it was time for Zayn to sing again he was much less nervous, although the two glasses of wine he'd managed to get his hands on in the mean time probably helped. This time he sang a full set, and his reception was even better than before.

"You've made it," Louis murmured into his ear afterwards. "All the people here are going to want you. At their parties, in their shows, on their guest lists. And the rest will just want you in their beds," he added mischievously.

Zayn laughed. "I hardly think so."

"Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself recently?" Louis guided him round until Zayn could see his reflection in one of the floor length mirrors. He had to admit, he barely recognised himself. 

"Every man, woman and fruit-bowl in this room wants to fuck you," Louis said in a low voice. "Even the glasses of wine want to go down you."

Zayn bit back a laugh. "Shhh, people will hear."

"Let them," Louis grinned, more than a bit drunk. He pulled back and tried to look serious. "No, you're right, of course. You need to look classy. Available, but classy." He re-took Zayn's arm and swung him on another tireless circuit of the room.

\--

Somewhere a church clock was striking three in the morning. Zayn was lying on his back on Louis' bed, the window open to let in some much needed air. There'd been dancing, and drinking, and more singing, and Zayn had been entirely too wired to eat anything, a decision he was starting to regret because his head was spinning.

Louis was still downstairs with the last of the guests, but Zayn had finally made his escape, pleading exhaustion. He'd imagined he'd be asleep within seconds, but now he could finally relax his brain wouldn't switch off. Much of the evening was a blur, but it had been incredible and he couldn't wait to do it again. 

The door cracked open and Zayn looked up to find Louis standing there smiling at him. He'd lost his jacket somewhere, his bow tie was hanging loose around his neck and to Zayn he looked practically edible.

"Thought you'd be asleep," Louis murmured, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes. 

"So did I. I'm still buzzing too much."

Louis came and sat on the edge of the bed, unfastening his shirt. Zayn sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. 

"I haven't had a chance to thank you," he said quietly. "For everything you've done."

Louis looked mildly surprised. "It's been a pleasure. You deserve it. Seriously." He slid the shirt from his shoulders and Zayn reached out to stroke his bare arm. Louis turned to him, eyes dark with desire and pulled him into a hard kiss.

They shed the rest of their clothes with clumsy haste and tangled together, kissing and grasping at each other with impatient groans. 

Drunkenly eager, Zayn sprawled back across the bed, open and willing. Louis needed little encouragement and took him roughly, thrusting on top of him with an urgent need. He felt like he'd been hard for half the night, watching Zayn mingling with the guests and looking like some kind of devilish angel sent to drive him out of his mind.

He'd drunk too much to make it last though, and it wasn't long before Louis came with a grunt of surprise, spilling his load helplessly inside him. He rolled off, panting hard and trying to muster an apology.

"Shit. Sorry." He dragged his head up and found to his relief that Zayn was laughing at him. 

"Come back here and finish me off you bastard," Zayn grinned. Louis fell into his arms, flushed from wine and embarrassment, and kissed him. 

Zayn returned the kiss, running his hands over Louis' back and pushing his neglected erection up against his stomach. It occurred to him how far he'd come in these few weeks, not just in terms of performing, but this, too. The inexperienced boy Louis had beckoned into his carriage that first day would never have had the temerity to demand such things.

Louis was kissing his way down Zayn's stomach, tongue flicking into his belly button, teeth grazing his skin. Zayn began to feel like he could come just from this, but then Louis moved further down and slid his mouth over the head of his cock. 

"Fuck," Zayn moaned, hips jerking up of their own accord, pushing further into Louis' mouth. Louis held him down, hands firm on his waist, lips sliding wetly up and down. 

Louis' tongue lapped at the head and he sucked purposefully around him. It wasn't the first time they'd done this, and he knew exactly what would make Zayn come.

Louis felt nails dig into his shoulders as all the muscles in Zayn's stomach went abruptly rigid and a second later he was spurting his release into Louis' mouth. Louis swallowed around him, working him with one hand to prolong his climax and revelling in the noises that Zayn was making.

"Better?" Louis smirked, wiping his mouth. Zayn nodded weakly, looking dazed. Louis snorted with laughter, and pulled the covers over them. "Then get some sleep. The real hard work starts tomorrow."

\--

Louis' words were no idle threat. Zayn had thought the previous weeks had been busy, but they were nothing compared to those that followed. Intent on capitalising on Zayn's successful introduction, Louis had him singing all over the city, day and night, two, three, four times a day. 

The more people that heard him, the more that seemed to want him, and Zayn's fame grew by the day. He learnt more songs, and suddenly there were even people writing him new ones. He went from appearing as a guest in a show to being top of the bill, and from singing one song amongst other artists to having his own set.

When he first saw his name outside a theatre, Zayn couldn't believe it, and Louis laughingly offered to pinch him.

With fame came other offers, and Zayn found to his surprise that Louis was recommending he take on a theatrical agent. 

"I'm just playing at it really," Louis told him with a shrug over lunch one day. "I've got you noticed, but you need someone with more clout than I've got to go from here."

Zayn stared at him. They were seated in one of the city's smarter restaurants, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

"But - you've been amazing. We can do this together, Louis. Can't we?"

Louis gave him a look that Zayn couldn't read, and took a sip of his wine before answering. 

"I've got something I want you to see," Louis said finally, avoiding the question shamelessly. "Have you finished?" 

Zayn looked down at the food left on his plate and decided he was no longer hungry. There was an uneasiness in his stomach that hadn't been there before, but he forced a smile and nodded.

Louis took him to a fashionable part of the city and into a tall apartment block where he lead Zayn to the very top floor.

"What do you think?"

Zayn looked out at the view of the city spread below them in amazement. "It's incredible. Who lives here?"

"You do."

Zayn spun round. "What? 

"It's yours. I've arranged it for you."

"I don't understand. Are you - asking me to leave?" Zayn asked, confused and more than a little crushed.

Louis came over to the window and took his hands. "You need somewhere of your own to live," he said gently. "People are starting to talk."

"Since when do you care about what people think?" 

"I don't, when it comes to me. But you - " Louis broke away and sighed. "This is how it goes, okay? I find someone, I take an interest, I try and make them a hit. Some are, some aren't. Some do the rounds for a season, some for a little longer, some never make it past being a party anecdote. But you Zayn? I've never seen anything like it. People love you, and you have the chance to make it, I mean _really_ make it." 

Louis leaned on the windowsill, staring unseeing through the glass. "I have - a certain reputation. And though I can get you so far, after a while that will be more of a hindrance than a help to you. Trust me on this."

"But Louis - " Zayn faltered. Louis' expression was closed off, blank. He'd never seen him like this before, and found he didn’t know what to say. 

"So is this it?" Zayn asked bleakly, when Louis didn’t speak. "You're just - casting me off?" 

Louis closed his eyes for a second. "Think of it as setting you free."

"What if I don’t want to be free?" Zayn closed the gap between them and forced Louis to face him. "I thought we were - " 

"What? Thought we were what?" Louis snapped harshly. 

"Friends."

Louis' expression softened for a moment. "Oh." He almost smiled. "We are. Zayn of course we are. We always will be. And if you need me, ever, I'll be here." He took hold of Zayn's shoulders and shook his head slowly. "But you _don't_ need me. Not any more. That's the point. And for your sake, you need to see that."

"I - I can't do it without you," Zayn stammered, suddenly scared, not just of losing Louis but of being alone.

"Yes you can. I have faith in you." Louis relented and hugged him tightly. Zayn clung to him for a long time, and Louis didn’t push him away. 

Eventually, Zayn pulled back and took a deep breath. "Fine. If this is the way you want it."

"You'll thank me. One day." Louis smiled at him, a little sadly. "And make sure I get an invite to your housewarming party, okay?" 

Zayn nodded, too choked up to speak, and Louis kissed him softly on the cheek. 

"Goodbye Zayn. Good luck. And thank you, for making the last months so special."

With that, Louis walked out and Zayn watched the door close behind him, feeling horribly like he was going to burst into tears.

\--

Zayn didn’t have time to dwell on his feelings of abandonment for long. He had a show that evening that he had to get ready for, and the preparations kept him blessedly too busy to think about Louis at all. 

His performance that night was one of the best he'd ever given, and if there was a certain extra edge to the songs about loss and heartbreak than usual then that was between him and the wilting carpet of roses thrown on to the stage. 

Days passed, and gradually Zayn leaned to enjoy his newfound independence. He had plenty of money now, and his time in the city had seen him make a lot of new friends, not only through Louis. He added things to his new home, and showed them off proudly to visitors. He went dancing and dining with a succession of friends and acquaintances. He had no shortage of admirers either, people would queue up at the stage door to meet him, and once or twice he even took some of those on to parties and balls. 

None of them ever stayed the night, much to their disappointment. Zayn found that the men were too pushy and the women didn’t interest him. Consequently he developed a reputation as a gentleman as well as an artist, and his star rose even higher.

One evening, he was attending a friend's aftershow soiree when across the room he caught sight of Louis. They'd seen each other a few times, for drinks or supper, or at other people's shows, but it had been a while now, and Zayn found his heart beating surprisingly fast. 

He'd examined his feelings for Louis over and over, and while he didn’t think he'd been in love with him there was a sufficient depth of affection there that it still felt painful to remember their abrupt parting. 

Zayn was halfway across the room before he noticed the young man on Louis' arm. He stopped so suddenly the person behind him walked into his back, and there was a confused moment of spilled champagne and exclaimed apologies. Turning away, Zayn took the excuse of his soaked sleeve to leave the party and hurried home, trying to pretend he absolutely wasn’t running away.

\--

The next morning he was woken by a knocking on his front door, and dragged himself out of bed to answer it, hastily tying a robe round his nakedness as he went.

Outside stood the last person he'd expected to see.

"Louis!"

"Sleeping in on such a beautiful day?" Louis raised an eyebrow. "Criminal."

Zayn blinked at him sourly. When he'd got home the night before he'd got horribly drunk and all he wanted to do this morning was lie around feeling sorry for himself.

"Aren't you going to invite me in then?" Louis enquired, and Zayn sighed. 

"Whatever." He walked back inside, leaving it up to Louis whether he followed him in. He knew he was being childish and rude, but his head hurt and he felt sick, and he didn't think it was entirely due to his hangover.

"I came to apologise." 

Zayn looked up from the fruit juice he was pouring and spilt it all over the counter. "Shit. What? Sorry." He mopped ineffectually at the mess, and Louis reached over and took the cloth from him, cleaning it up quickly. 

"Clumsy. I said, I came to apologise. For last night." 

Zayn looked confused. "You didn’t do anything though?"

"I saw you. At the party. And I saw you leave, and - I should have warned you. That I'd be there, and that I'd be with someone. It was rude, to spring it on you like that."

"You don't have to explain yourself," Zayn muttered. "It's none of my business."

"I hurt you. I'm sorry."

Zayn looked at him with a twisted smile. "You're about two months too late with that one."

"Oh Zayn." Louis sank down onto a chair looking wretched. "I never meant to. I didn’t think you felt that way about me. I never thought you'd take it all so personally. I thought we had an understanding."

"You could have bloody _asked_!" Zayn exploded. "You just brought me here and abandoned me, like some puppy you'd tired of. What was I supposed to think?"

Louis flinched. "It wasn't easy for me, either," he said quietly. "I did what I thought was best." He stood up. "And I was right, too. You wouldn't be where you are now if the world thought you were still my kept boy."

Zayn slapped him, hard across the face.

For a second they stared at each other in silence, then Zayn's face crumpled. "I'm sorry. Fuck, Louis, I'm so sorry."

"I know. Me too. It's okay." Louis sighed. He held out his arms and they held each other tight for a long while.

"I miss you," Zayn whispered.

Louis smiled, and kissed him on the forehead. "I miss you too. But we can't go back. You know that."

Zayn nodded regretfully. "Friends though? Properly?"

"Always." They hugged again, and kissed each other on the cheek as they parted.

\-- 

Such had been Zayn's success, that soon it wasn't just venues in the city that were clamouring for his show, and he embarked on a tour of the surrounding towns, accompanied by what felt like a small army of dressers, stylists, promoters, scenery changers and assorted hangers-on. 

He'd seen Louis again just before he left, and confessed to feeling rather overwhelmed that all this was in motion just for him. Louis had ruffled his carefully arranged hair and told him to enjoy it while it lasted. "People love having someone to adore. If it wasn't you it would be someone else. So there's no reason you should feel guilty about it being you, is there?"

Lying sleepless and alone in yet another wayside inn, Zayn would think about his words and wish that Louis was there with him to enjoy it all. He missed his company as much as anything, and while Zayn was rarely alone, there weren't many people he felt he could trust.

The final stop for the touring show was the town nearest to Zayn's own home village, and in trepidation he invited his family to come and watch him sing. Afterwards, their proud and excited reaction left him stunned and speechless, and they all went home together in the greatest of spirits. Even Zayn's normally taciturn father had given his blessing, and Zayn fell asleep that night in his old bed with a huge smile on his face, a weight lifted from his shoulders that he'd never really been aware was there until it had gone.

The next day he was due to go back to the city, and realised with faint surprise that despite his pleasure at being back with his family, he now thought of his own apartment as home. As he climbed into the coach, waving his goodbyes, he felt a glow of pride that he'd accomplished his goal. He'd not only made his fortune, he'd found his way in life, and he had Louis to thank for that.

Staring out of the window as they rolled through the centre of the village, Zayn caught sight of someone under the trees in the square and banged on the roof for the coach to stop.

"Harry!" He leaned out of the window, fumbling with the door catch, and nearly fell out into the arms of his friend. 

"Zayn!" Harry smiled at him, looking even more wide-eyed than normal. "You were amazing last night."

Zayn gaped. "You came? To the show?" It had never occurred to him that Harry might want to see it.

Harry nodded shyly. "I had enough for the ticket but I had to walk there and back." He stifled a yawn. "Sorry. Didn't get much sleep, had to be up two hours after I got home."

Zayn felt dumbstruck and guilty. "Why didn’t you say? I could have had you collected. And I could have got you a ticket, you idiot!"

Harry's blush deepened. "I - didn’t want to bother you," he muttered. "You're famous now. I didn’t think you'd - y'know. Maybe remember me."

"Fuck Harry, I haven't been gone that long!" 

"Nearly a year," Harry pointed out, hoping it didn’t sound too much like he'd been counting.

"I'm sorry." Zayn realised with a prickle of shame that he'd never written back to thank Harry for the biscuits. "I'm a jerk."

Harry smiled. "No you're not. You're amazing," he said loyally. "I'm so happy for you."

Zayn grinned, now really looking at him for the first time in a long while. Harry was taller than he remembered, but he still had a boyish pout to his lips, and Zayn had to tear his eyes away. No good thinking like that, he scolded himself. But Harry was still smiling at him and it was hard not to harbour increasingly impure thoughts. How had he never noticed how fucking attractive he was before, Zayn wondered. But then, it wasn't until Louis that he'd even known two men could be together like that. He could imagine how horrified Harry would be if he made a pass at him. 

Zayn shook himself. There was no place for him here any more he realised. He could come and visit, but he'd changed too much to be able to fit in permanently.

"I'd better go," he told Harry apologetically. "Long journey ahead."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Will you come back and visit?"

"Of course. And you should come to visit me!" Zayn blurted before he could think about how unwise that might be. The look on Harry's face was worth it though, and he found himself rashly starting to picture himself wining and dining Harry in the city, impressing him with his showbiz friends, and then maybe seducing him slowly, leading him to his bed, and - 

"Will you come to the wedding?"

"What?" Zayn's daydreams came to an abrupt halt. "Whose?"

"Mine, silly." 

"Yours? What? Who are you marrying?" Zayn demanded, feeling derailed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't listened to a word I've been saying, have you?" he said, although he didn’t look especially cross. Zayn realised he’d been too busy trying to imagine Harry naked and cleared his throat. 

"Sorry. Tell me again."

"I'm marrying Belle. It's all arranged." Harry sighed, and Zayn wondered why he didn’t look more happy about it. 

"Her mother's the greengrocer, yeah?" Zayn asked. He had a vague memory of a blonde girl with an annoying laugh and felt an uncharitable flush of annoyance. She was pretty though. Very pretty. The pair of them would make a beautiful couple.

Harry was nodding. "Yeah. A good match, my father says."

Zayn frowned. "You mean - they picked her for you?" 

"Yeah. I mean - she's nice and all. We get on okay. But yeah, it was pretty much sorted out between our parents." Harry looked at him hopefully. "You'll come right?"

"Sure," Zayn lied. He had no intention of watching Harry get married to someone else, and had the sudden feeling he couldn’t get out of town quick enough. "I hope you'll be very happy together."

"Yeah." Harry looked unconvinced, although he managed a smile. "Did you mean it? About me coming to visit you?"

"Absolutely." Zayn climbed hastily back into the carriage, not wanting to see Harry's face fall at what he knew was an unconvincing tone. "I'll write, yeah?"

As the coach pulled away again he sank back in the seat feeling stupid. How could he however briefly have imagined there might be something there? Harry was a friend, that was all. And if those eyes had lingered on his, or Harry’s hand rested on Zayn’s for longer than might be considered normal, well, Harry had always been a tactile kind of person. 

Zayn had a mental image of Harry's large hands roaming his body, those long fingers wrapped around his cock and gave a groan. Maybe coming back had been a mistake. The longer he stayed, the greater chance there was of people finding out there was something odd about him.

The coach reached the end of the street and turned towards the main road out of town. Zayn looked up and caught a glimpse of Harry still standing where he'd left him, staring after the coach. As Zayn watched, he lifted his arm and waved, but they'd moved on too fast for him to wave back.

They were passing the bookshop now, and Zayn sat up as he saw Liam standing outside. This time he did wave, eagerly, and Liam grinned up at him. He was with his friend Niall, who had a basket of groceries on his arm and they both waved back as the carriage went past.

Zayn though, had dropped his hand and was staring blankly ahead, feeling like he'd been hit between the eyes.

Liam and Niall. They'd shared a house for years, and nobody had ever thought anything of it. Could they be - ? 

Zayn had the sudden urge to stop the coach again, to run back and talk to them. But what could he say? He could hardly come right out and ask if they were lovers. He curled into the seat instead and thought about it as the miles passed. Liam owned the bookshop and Niall ran the dairy. Neither had ever been married, or linked with anyone in that way. He'd never thought to wonder before, they'd always just been - there.

Could he have misjudged his own town that badly? He'd always assumed that the kind of relationship he'd been having with Louis would be seen as scandalous away from the more theatrical circles of the city. Louis had certainly done nothing to dispel that idea, and the concept that a little town like his might in fact be _more_ tolerant was entirely new. 

As the miles passed, the rhythm of the coach lulled him to sleep, questioning everything he thought he knew.

Back in the city, Zayn couldn’t settle. He had a break before his new show opened in the biggest theatre of all, and instead of rehearsing he found himself going over and over every conversation he could ever remember having with Harry, looking for possible nuances and suggestions that he might have missed. He finally came to the conclusion that either Harry was the most innocently suggestive creature that had ever lived, or that he was actually wildly in love with him, but for the life of him Zayn couldn’t decide which.

He tried to put Harry out of his mind, and threw himself back into the endless round of parties, lunches and dances that his life here offered. But the harder he tried, the more Harry haunted his thoughts and dreams, until it was beginning to feel uncomfortably like an obsession.

Zayn tried dating to try and shake the feelings, which was going well until he realised halfway through the evening that the person he'd picked had a remarkable resemblance to a certain curly-haired baker. 

He made his excuses and went home, where he lay in the dark with the curtains open, the lights of the city reflecting up onto the ceiling. He thought about Liam and Niall. He thought about Louis. And then he gave in and thought about Harry and shortly afterwards came all over his hand.

\--

The letter from his mother arrived a few days before his opening night, and Zayn wandered about his apartment reading it, half dressed and with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. He was halfway through when a line made him freeze. The toast dropped to the carpet, unnoticed.

Harry was getting married. 

Zayn looked quickly at the date of the letter, knowing the post from out in the country could be erratic, and yelped. It had taken almost a week to reach him. Which meant Harry was getting married that very afternoon.

Abruptly, he couldn't bear it any more, and throwing on some clothes raced out of the house. There was only one person he could think of to talk to about it, and in the space of half an hour was hanging on the bell-pull at Louis' front door. 

It was still early, and he hoped Louis would be awake. And alone, for that matter, he thought with a belated rush of alarm. He would have turned and fled, but at that moment the door opened to reveal Albert.

"Master Zayn! You're up early."

"Hello Albert. Sorry for being a pest. Um. Is Louis in?"

"In, yes, awake, I'm not sure. Come in." Albert lead him into the hall and ushered him into one of the parlours while he disappeared. Zayn paced the room, too anxious to settle. It felt odd, being back here as a guest, when he'd lived here for so long. He recognised that he was lucky, Albert was a fierce defender of Louis' privacy when the occasion demanded, and the fact he'd let him straight in suggested he still held a certain amount of affection for Zayn himself.

Eventually the butler returned with a slight bow. "He'll see you now, if you'd care to go up?"

Zayn was taken aback. "Oh. Er. In his room?"

"His Lordship is breakfasting alone," Albert murmured discreetly, and Zayn relaxed. 

"Thank you." 

He mounted the stairs, scene of his launch into the big time, and found Louis sitting up in bed with a tray of tea and toast. Zayn tried to remember if he'd picked up the toast he'd dropped earlier and winced in mental apology to his carpet.

"Hello you. This is a nice surprise," said Louis, looking like he meant it. "Take a seat," he said, waving to the bed. "Want some toast?"

"No. Thanks." Now he was here, Zayn hardly knew where to begin.

"To what to I owe the pleasure?" Louis asked, grinning. "I didn’t think you knew this time of day existed."

"I was supposed to be in rehearsal," Zayn remembered with a shock. "Shit, I'm late already."

"What's happened?"

What do you mean?"

"Well, something clearly has. Something big enough to make you forget the biggest show of your life and send you scurrying to my door. And not even for my marmalade, apparently." Louis added with a smirk.

Zayn laughed, embarrassed. "Sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I just - didn’t know where else to go." 

Louis set the tray aside and took Zayn's hand. "Hey. I said I'd always be here if you needed me," he said seriously. "I meant it. Now, go on, what's got you all in a flap?"

"Have you ever felt like you've made the biggest mistake of your life?" Zayn asked, looking at him with pleading eyes.

Louis frowned. "On a nightly basis, at times. Why, what have you done? You haven't knocked someone up have you?"

"What? No!" Zayn protested. He sighed. "I think - I think I'm in love."

"Oh. Oh _dear_." Louis gave him an exaggerated look of horror. "That is tragic. One should only ever be loved, never do the loving. Far too painful."

"Not helping," Zayn muttered, and Louis squeezed his hand. 

"Ah. You're serious, then. Who's the lucky person, anyone I know?"

"I doubt it. Harry's - from my home town."

Louis pursed his lips. "And he's here?"

"No."

"Ah," said Louis again. "I begin to see the problem. Does he feel the same way?"

"I - don’t actually know. Maybe?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "What do you want, tips on how to seduce him?" Zayn just looked miserable, and Louis dropped the flippant manner to pat his hand. 

"Zayn? What is it, what's wrong?"

"He's getting married."

"Oh."

"To a girl."

"Well, yes."

"Today."

There was a silence, then Louis sighed. "You left this a bit late, don’t you think?"

"I didn’t know!" Zayn wailed. "What should I do Louis? Should I tell him?"

"Assuming you could get there in time? Running the risk of disrupting carefully planned celebrations? Facing possible humiliating rejection in front of your entire village? Causing a massive scandal either way?" Louis grinned. "Yes, I'd say so."

Zayn buried his face in his hands and groaned. Louis rubbed his back.

"Are you serious? About being in love?"

"Yes." Zayn looked up at him, feeling guilty, but Louis just smiled fondly. 

"Then it's your duty to do something about it. Duty to yourself as much as to him. Or you'll wonder what might have been, forever."

"You really think so?" 

"Take it from me," Louis said softly. "Don't pass up your chances. Regret is worse to live with than the fear of rejection."

"Louis - " Zayn threaded his fingers through Louis', wanting to ask what he regretted but not quite liking to. 

"Go. Find him. Take my coach if you want." Louis lifted Zayn's chin with his fingers and kissed him gently on the lips. "Be happy."

\--

Louis' carriage was sturdy and built for speed, but to Zayn it felt like the miles dragged past at a snail's pace. The horses thundered along, sweating and snorting under the urging of the coachman, the wheels creaked alarmingly as the whole coach swayed round corners and yet Zayn fidgeted in the rich interior, wishing they could go faster.

He knew it would take hours to get there no matter what their speed, and fretted that he would be too late. He wondered what he would do in that case, and concluded that wishing Harry all the best, pretending he was just late for the ceremony and scurrying home as quickly as possible was the only way. It would be too cruel, to both of them, to make a fuss after the event. 

Zayn wondered if Louis was thinking of him right now, and somehow knew that if everything went wrong today he would go running back into his arms. He sensed that that too would be cruel, in a way that he didn't want to dwell on, but they'd used each other enough for it to be bearable.

Eventually the carriage pulled to a stop in the centre of the town and Zayn scrambled out, stiff and dishevelled. The main street was oddly deserted, and he realised with a sinking heart that everyone must be in the church. 

He made his way through the little cemetery and pushed open the heavy doors. It was dark inside after the bright sunshine, and it took his eyes a second to adjust. When he could see again, he realised with horror the church was full, and everyone had turned round to stare at him. 

Zayn swallowed awkwardly. He had no idea what stage they were at, and had a feeling his voice wouldn't work even if he had any idea what to say. He looked down the length of the aisle and saw Harry standing before the altar, wearing a simple yet elegant dark suit and looking more devastating than in any of Zayn’s daydreams. Harry was looking back at him, lips parted slightly whether in hope or just surprise Zayn couldn’t tell. Next to Harry was a vision of blonde beauty in cream satin and pink flowers, who was also staring at him with slightly more confusion.

It felt like a year, but could hardly have been more than a second. Zayn raised a hand in silent apology and slid into a pew at the back, too mortified to disturb them further. He wondered if he imagined the way Harry's shoulders slumped slightly, or the tinge of resignation in his smile as he turned back to his bride.

The priest continued with the ceremony, and Zayn realised with mounting tension that they hadn't been that far in. If only he'd been half an hour earlier, he could have stopped it. If he'd come straight here, if he hadn't gone to Louis - but then, he acknowledged he'd never have had the courage to come here at all if it hadn't been for Louis' urging, and he'd have wasted twice the time trying to hire a carriage of his own.

Zayn let the words of the liturgy wash over him, not really paying attention. He hadn't been in here much, his family worshipped elsewhere, and he let his eyes run over the carvings and flowers with a peacefully distant curiosity. 

It was with a certain shock that the priest's next words brought him back to himself, asking if any person present knew of any reason that the couple before him should not be married.

A nervous titter ran around the church, as at all such moments, no-one expecting anyone to say anything. Belle cast a knowing eye over the congregation with a slight smile. Harry turned slightly too, but he looked straight at Zayn, and before he knew what he was doing Zayn had got to his feet.

A deadly hush fell and he stood there stupidly until the priest cleared his throat. "Did you - ah - have something to say young man? Otherwise - ?"

Zayn swallowed twice, trying to make his throat work. He could be about to make the biggest mistake of his life. But Harry was still staring at him, and as Zayn gazed back in desperation Harry gave a slight nod.

"You know of an impediment?" the priest prompted again, slightly more irritably. In thirty years of performing weddings this had never happened before and he felt if someone had an objection they should jolly well get on with it.

"I - yes. I - " Zayn bit his lip. "I love him, you see."

There was a stir of consternation as the guests firstly reacted to his declaration and then a second later caught on to the fact he'd said _him_.

The priest frowned over his glasses. "Did you say - ?"

"Harry. I'm in love with Harry." Zayn had moved out into the aisle now, and could feel everyone's eyes on him, some angry, some shocked, some just amused. He caught sight of Liam and Niall sitting together in a pew wearing matching buttonholes. Liam gave him a grin and a nod of approval and Niall winked at him. 

Zayn looked down, fighting a rising bubble of hysterical laughter. When he looked back up, he found with a shock that Harry was walking slowly back down the aisle towards him. Zayn wondered faintly if he was coming to punch him in the face. 

A hand's breadth apart, they stared at each other, the rest of the church so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Did you mean that?" Harry said quietly, searching his face. 

Zayn nodded jerkily. "I love you," he said hoarsely. "I just - wanted you to know," he added lamely.

Harry licked his lips, looking both scared and elated. "So - " he said, when Zayn did nothing but stand there. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

With a strained noise of amazed disbelief, Zayn pulled Harry into his arms and kissed him before he could change his mind. Far from objecting, Harry opened his mouth into the kiss, letting his tongue slide against Zayn’s and holding him tight.

For a blissful few moments the rest of the world didn’t exist, and there was only the two of them, locked in an intense embrace. Gradually, they became aware of the number of people still staring at them and pulled apart, exchanging matching looks of _'what have we done?'_

"Oops," whispered Harry. Zayn hugged him close then let him go and they turned to face the church. 

Belle was stalking slowly towards them, expression unreadable. Zayn braced himself for a tirade, but it was Harry she walked up to and slapped him loudly across the cheek. Zayn opened his mouth to defend them both, but Harry laid a hand on his arm. 

"Sorry Bee," he said sheepishly. To Zayn's surprise Belle sighed and shrugged. 

"Whatever." She looked out across the assembled guests and fixed someone with a look, beckoning with a finger. A young man stood up and Zayn recognised with a jolt the ringleader of the group that used to take every opportunity to humiliate him. His fear of getting beaten to a pulp briefly resurfaced, but a hand slid into his and Harry smiled at him.

"Don’t worry," he murmured. 

Belle was now hand in hand with the boy, who was looking dazedly hopeful.

" _Now_ can I marry him Daddy?" Belle demanded. A flustered looking man in the front pew stood up and ran a hand through fluffy white hair. 

"Well. Yes, I suppose so," he conceded.

Belle brightened and looked at Harry. "Thanks flour-boy."

Harry grinned. "Looks like you get a wedding after all." 

They walked back up the aisle and Zayn squeezed Harry’s fingers, still resting warmly in his. "Fancy making it a double?"

Harry grinned. "Not sure this place is ready for that yet. Besides, I think we should get to know each other a little better first, don’t you?" He tugged at Zayn's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here before we outstay our welcome."

They escaped into the fresh air, and rested against the lych-gate where Zayn took the opportunity to kiss Harry again, slower this time but no less intense. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too. I think I always have." Harry smiled, arms wrapped around his neck. "Never thought you'd notice me though."

"I needed a wake-up call," Zayn confessed. He sighed. "Your parents are going to hate me, aren’t they?"

"You're rich and famous. I've a feeling they'll get over it," Harry giggled, and Zayn picked him up and swung him round, kissing him and laughing.

Behind them, the door of the church opened again and Harry's parents came out. His father marched up to Zayn and glared at him.

"I have never been so humiliated in my entire life!" he shouted, and Zayn physically flinched back into Harry’s steadying arms. 

Harry's father stormed off to be replaced with Harry's mother, who was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Zayn felt awful, until she smiled up at them both fondly. 

"That was the most romantic thing I've ever seen," she said. Zayn did a double-take as she seized his hand and patted it. "You will look after him, won’t you?" 

Zayn managed a nod. "Of course."

She nodded approvingly. "Good. Don’t mind my husband, he's all grouse and wind." She hugged them both and turned to follow him down the road, leaving them alone again.

"That - went better than I was expecting," said Zayn faintly. A thought occurred to him and he frowned. "In fact, much better. Belle was - surprising."

Harry grinned swinging Zayn's hand in his. "I told you it was an arranged marriage didn’t I? Neither of us really had much say in the matter. She always wanted to marry Gaston, but her father didn’t approve, on the grounds that he's as thick as two short planks, and also that _his_ parents don’t own a bakery." 

Zayn smiled at him, barely able to believe his luck. He'd been so convinced Harry wouldn’t want him that he hadn't given a thought to what would happen afterwards, and was just coming to realise that it might all have been horribly stilted and awkward. But it felt comfortable, easy, and he had the giddy feeling that he wanted to burst into song.

"So, are you going to whisk me away from all this?" Harry asked, as they walked along the street together. 

Zayn nodded. "Assuming you want to come?" 

"Yeah. I think getting out of town for a while might be a good idea. Let the dust settle." Harry kissed him, making Zayn laugh. 

"Then, your carriage awaits."

\--

They collected Harry's things and said goodbye to the few people who'd emerged from the reception to see them off, including Harry's mother. Settling into the coach, Zayn took Harry into his arms and kissed him again, unable to keep his hands off him.

Their kisses got increasingly heated until Harry was sitting in Zayn's lap, knees splayed either side of his thighs and groin pressed up against Zayn's growing erection. 

Zayn groaned, unable to resist sliding his hands into Harry's trousers and cupping his arse. Harry kissed him again, opened mouthed and wet, leaving them both achingly hard and thrusting against each other helplessly.

Fumbling Harry's flies open, Zayn worked his hand in between them and grasped his cock, the filthy gasp that Harry gave into his mouth making his own erection throb unbearably. 

Despite their kisses and declarations of love he'd wondered whether Harry would be shocked by the idea of being intimate with him, but as with everything else in life Harry seemed to approach it with an openness and enthusiasm that put everyone around him to shame.

Accordingly, Harry had managed to get Zayn's trousers open as well without needing encouragement, and by mutual and unspoken consent they pushed their clothing aside enough to touch each other properly, rubbing and sliding against sweat-slick skin in the confined space as the coach lurched from side to side.

It was rushed and desperate and not how Zayn had pictured their first time at all, but it was also full of laughter and the heightened excitement of fucking somewhere they shouldn't and somehow it felt fitting. Harry came with a muffled scream, Zayn's fingers wrapped tightly around his cock, burying his face in Zayn's shoulder as he shuddered through it.

Zayn was ready to hold him close and whisper reassuring things to him, but Harry sat up and flicked his hair out of his eyes with a grin, returning his attention to Zayn's rigid cock with a dedicated double fisted effort that had Zayn coming messily all over his hands within minutes. 

They adjusted their clothing and Harry snuggled up against him, sighing happily. "Is this your coach?" he asked idly after a while, running an appreciative hand over the satin of the seat.

"Fraid not. On loan from a friend," Zayn confessed. "I'm not _that_ rich."

Harry grinned. "I don't care. I'd come with you even if we had to walk," he assured him, and Zayn thought he might burst with happiness. 

\--

By the time they arrived back at Zayn's apartment building it was so late it was early, but they'd dozed on the way, and now both were wide awake and giddy with excitement.

Zayn had sent the coachman home with both his deep gratitude and a cryptic but triumphant message for Louis. 

It was an hour or so later when they were disturbed by a knock at the door. Exchanging bemused looks with Harry, Zayn went to see who it was. Even by the eccentric hours of his friends, four in the morning was an unusual time to be calling. 

Outside was an errand boy holding an enormous basket containing champagne, exotic fruits, fancy pastries and savoury things in colourful twists of paper and strewn with bright flowers. 

"With the compliments of Lord Tomlinson, sir."

Zayn took the basket with a stunned nod of thanks and fished out a coin for him. 

Harry watched the exchange with a look of amusement, examining the contents with interest. He picked out the calling card tucked in with it and twirled it in his fingers. 

"A Lord, eh? You have friends in high places," he teased.

Zayn laughed a little awkwardly. "Yeah." He shrugged and opened the champagne, much to Harry's delight. 

In the bottom of the basket beneath the edible items, Harry had found a small cut-glass vial with a silver stopper. He held it up curiously. "What's this?"

Zayn froze. He had a fair idea what it contained, and absolutely no idea how to explain it to Harry, at least not yet. 

Harry had uncorked it, and was sniffing the contents. "Smells like festival biscuits," he grinned.

"I think it's - bath oil," hedged Zayn, hoping he hadn't gone as red as he felt. 

"Oh. That's - thoughtful." Harry gave him a look of amused scepticism, and to Zayn's relief put it down and picked up his glass again.

They'd drunk most of the bottle when Zayn took a deep breath.

"I feel I should tell you. That I'm not - well - a virgin."

Harry looked surprised, then shrugged. "Neither am I."

"You're not?" It was Zayn's turn to look surprised, and then he felt guilty. Why should he have assumed Harry would wait around for him?

Harry gave him a smirk. "Belle and I were going to be married. We figured we should know if we were at least slightly compatible."

"Oh." Zayn gave a sudden laugh. "Okay."

Harry nudged him. "So? What about you?"

Zayn went quiet and Harry's gaze fell on the gift basket, putting two and two together. "Let me guess? The mysterious Lord Tomlinson?" 

Zayn nodded sheepishly. "Louis. Yeah."

"And - I'm guessing that was his carriage?"

Another nod, waiting for Harry to be outraged or disappointed in him.

"He must care about you a lot?" Harry ventured.

Zayn managed a smile. "We were - together, for a while," he confessed. "Not for some time though." He took Harry's hand, looking anxious." Do you mind?"

"Should I?" Harry pulled him closer. "You interrupted my wedding to tell me you loved me Zayn. As declarations go, that carries some weight." 

Zayn finally relaxed and his smile broadened as Harry kissed him possessively.

"Take me to bed," Harry whispered, lips still brushing his. "I want to be yours now."

\--

Harry disappeared into the bedroom while Zayn went to the bathroom. He washed carefully, taking the time to compose himself. All of a sudden he felt ridiculously nervous, afraid of making a fool of himself, or worse, of upsetting Harry. He had to take a series of deep, calming breaths before he could screw up enough courage to go and join him.

Harry was waiting for him in bed, and while Zayn had put on a pair of pyjamas, when he climbed under the covers he found Harry was completely naked.

He wriggled into Zayn's arms for a kiss, looking adorably sleepy.

"If you're tired, we could just go to sleep?" Zayn offered, as Harry fought off a yawn.

"No way. Technically this is my wedding night," Harry grinned. 

They kissed again, warm and slow. Zayn could feel Harry getting hard against him, and his own cock stiffened in response. Harry was unbuttoning Zayn's top, and soon they were chest to chest, revelling in the feel of the other's bare skin against their own.

Zayn kissed his way down Harry's body, licking at his nipples, nuzzling the dip of his belly-button with his nose. He moved further down, stroking Harry's erection and licking up the side, then buried his face between Harry's thighs, kissing the sensitive skin. 

Harry spread his legs invitingly wide, and Zayn let his fingers explore further up before checking himself, worrying that Harry might not welcome it. He remembered his own first confused deflowering at Louis' hands, and was determined to be more open with Harry.

"Is this okay?" Zayn murmured, crawling back up the bed to capture Harry's mouth in a kiss. "You must tell me, if I do anything you don’t like."

Harry smiled up at him, his own hands roaming eagerly over Zayn's body. "I trust you," he whispered. "Do whatever you want. Teach me."

Zayn sighed shakily against his lips with arousal and emotion, kissing him softly, over and over until they were both laughing. Harry took told of Zayn's hand and moved it back between his legs.

"I've - had my own fingers up there," he confessed quietly, with a blush. "If that helps."

The idea of Harry lying alone in the dark at home and touching himself in that way made Zayn feel he was in danger of coming there and then, and he groaned.

Harry gave him a wicked grin. "Don't be embarrassed," he murmured. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to be inside you," Zayn admitted, voice low and hoarse. Harry nodded, pressing against him, showing Zayn that he was willing with every inch of his body.

Zayn sat up, flushed and still a little awkward. "I, uh. I need to get something." He slid out of bed and hurried out, his cock still bobbing proudly between his legs. In a moment he was back, holding the little vial from Louis' basket.

Harry smirked. "That's not bath oil, is it?"

"No," Zayn confessed, climbing back into bed looking sheepish. Harry flopped back against the pillows giggling, and pulled Zayn down after him, circling Zayn's cock with one hand and jerking him purposefully.

"I'm not shy," Harry told him. "You don't have to protect me."

"I just don't want to hurt you," Zayn protested. "I don't want to take this too fast."

"Zayn, I've wanted this - wanted you - for as long as I can remember. Trust me, it's not fast." 

Relenting with a laugh, Zayn scooped Harry into his arms and kissed him deeply, finally accepting that this was something they both wanted and were ready for.

In the end it came easily, naturally. As Zayn thrust slowly into Harry's body for the first time he almost felt like sobbing with the perfection of it. Harry was so tight, felt so hot and good around him, finally spread open for the taking by the long and gentle application of Zayn's fingers and mouth.

Zayn was slick and hard, Harry giving breathy gasps of approval as he pushed in and out with a measured and deliberate rhythm. There would be time later for more heated and demanding displays, this time he wanted to take it slow, make it memorable.

He gazed down at Harry in wonder, pressed into the sheets, all swollen lips and sweat-darkened hair, his legs splayed high around Zayn's body and his own cock hard against his stomach. 

As Zayn's thrusts finally became more erratic, his arms starting to shake where they were propping him up, Harry jerked himself to a moaning climax, barely needing to touch himself and just seconds before Zayn too lost all remnants of control and came hard inside him, before collapsing into Harry's arms.

\--

They slept late the next morning, and were eventually woken by a loud banging on the door. Zayn struggled blearily out of bed and went to answer it, wrapping one of the blankets round him for modesty. 

His theatrical manager was standing there looking irate.

"Where the bloody hell have you been? You missed rehearsals yesterday and you're supposed to be in the middle of the dress run right now! Just because you're the star of the bloody show doesn't mean you can vanish without a trace for two days! What the hell have you been doing?" He broke off, staring past Zayn into the apartment. "Oh. I _see_."

Zayn turned round to see Harry standing in the door to the bedroom, wrapped in another blanket. He looked sheepishly back at his manager.

"Sorry Mr Cowell. I'll be right there."

"See that you are. Assuming of course that you're capable of walking," he said acidly, with a pointed look at Harry. "Some people might think the biggest opening night of that fragile thing you like to call a career might be more important to you than getting your rocks off." 

"I'll _be_ there," Zayn repeated, wishing he was wearing more than a blanket. He felt at a bit of a disadvantage like this. 

"Hmph." Cowell swept off down the corridor and Zayn closed the door, sighing.

"Are you in trouble?" Harry came across and wrapped his arms around him.

"Not really. But he's right, I do need to get down there. I kind've just dropped everything yesterday." 

"I didn't mean to cause you problems," Harry smiled, and Zayn enveloped him in his blanket and kissed him.

"Worth every second."

They made their way to the theatre, Harry staring in amazement at the sprawling city around them. It had been dark when they arrived the night before, and he'd never imagined such huge buildings existed. 

Without time for breakfast, they'd brought along the rest of the things that Louis had sent, and Harry settled down in an empty section of seating to work his way through them, watching the proceedings on stage with interest.

There were other acts to perform before Zayn, and the theatre was full of bustling stage crews, costumiers, chorus girls and a myriad other people with roles Harry could only guess at. 

Soon it was Zayn's turn to run through his performance. There was a lot of stopping and starting as stage directions were worked out, and people were clearly irritated with him for not showing up the day before. 

Tensions were high and Zayn felt increasingly anxious and frustrated, repeatedly missing notes and at one point forgetting the words entirely. 

In a break, he came down to join Harry in the stalls, looking gloomy. "Well that could have gone better," he sighed. Harry squeezed his arm and passed him a cake. 

"It wasn't that bad." 

"Thanks, but it was, I was shocking. How the hell am I going to get through tonight? It's going to be a disaster!"

"Don't worry lovey," called a prop lady going past with an armful of wooden swords and overhearing his words. "It's true what they say you know. Shit dress rehearsal means a fabulous performance!"

"See?" Harry nudged him. "It's going to be fine. Better than fine."

Zayn just groaned and buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

By that evening he was feeling sick with nerves. Harry though was a constant reassuring presence, and Zayn was grateful for his support. They went home to snatch a brief rest, and Zayn leant Harry one of his dinner suits to attend the performance in. 

"Will you be okay?" Zayn asked worriedly. He felt guilty for basically abandoning Harry for the evening, but as he would be on stage for most of it, there wasn't a lot he could do.

"I'll be fine," Harry assured him. "Don't worry about me." He gave Zayn a quick hug and a kiss. "Go on, off you go. Be amazing."

While Zayn disappeared backstage to get ready, Harry found his way through the theatre to his seat. A box had been reserved for Zayn's friends and supporters, and they'd found Harry a spare ticket to squeeze him in. 

Harry made his way to the balcony edge, looking out over the stage in excitement. When he'd attended Zayn's concert at home, he'd been right at the back and barely able to see. This though, was just about the best viewpoint in the house. He watched the audience filing in below and taking their seats, staring with rapt attention at every detail of their finery. 

Behind him he was aware of other guests arriving but kept his gaze shyly on the theatre below, assuming none of them would want to talk to him.

Louis swept into the reserved box at the head of a small entourage, calling loudly for someone to open the damn champagne before he died of thirst.

He scanned those already present, nodding to some and ignoring others, until his gaze fell on the young man standing apart from the rest, and frowned with interest. Abandoning the boy on his arm, he moved forward.

"Hello. I don't think we've met?"

Harry turned round and blinked in surprise at being addressed. "No," he agreed, with an instinctive smile. 

Louis held out his hand, and Harry shook it. "I'd thought I was acquainted with all the prettiest young men in town," Louis murmured. "It seems I was mistaken."

"You must have a very busy schedule in that case," Harry replied unthinkingly, and Louis gave a surprised bark of laughter. 

"God, you sound just like - " he broke off, realisation dawning. A slow smile spread over his face. "Of course. You must be Harry." 

He'd uncharitably assumed that Zayn's new lover would inevitably be some clod-faced lout from the sticks. The thought he might have been unbearably attractive in his own right had never really crossed Louis' mind.

Harry was staring at him, making some assumptions of his own.

"Lord Tomlinson, I presume?"

Louis gave a startled laugh. "God, that's not how he refers to me is it?"

"No. Your card was in the basket," Harry said. He bit his lip, going pink. "Thank you, by the way. It was very generous of you." He looked Louis over assessingly, pleasantly surprised. He'd been faintly worried that Zayn's erstwhile patron might have been a creepy old man, hadn't once imagined this dashing young lord.

Louis grinned. "Well, I knew he'd be bound to have nothing in. Welcome to the city, incidentally. What do you think of us so far? And do call me Louis."

"It's all amazing," Harry smiled.

Below, the first strains of the orchestra struck up, and there was a rustle of people settling down in anticipation. Harry made to move towards his seat in the rear of the box and Louis frowned. 

"What are you doing back there?"

"I was a last minute addition," Harry laughed. 

"Well, that's no good. You want to be able to see him properly don't you? You can have George's seat, he won't mind."

The youth who'd entered on Louis' arm and who'd been hanging around just within earshot looked stricken. Louis flapped a hand at him. "Go on, I'll make it up to you." 

The luckless George gave Harry a tight-lipped look of annoyance and Harry mouthed _'sorry'_. He sat where Louis indicated, right at the front, and stared down at the stage in nervous excitement. 

The show was a triumph. The supporting artists were entertaining and polished, and Zayn finally came on to thunderous applause, to give a note-perfect set with three encores.

When he was taking his final bow, he looked up towards the box, eyes seeking Harry - and did a noticeable double take when he saw him seated next to Louis. They both waved, grinning, and Zayn gave an extra bow in their direction, shaking his head with a laugh.

When it was over, Harry found himself swept along with the rest of Louis' group to the aftershow party, Louis seemingly having decided to take charge of him. 

It wasn't long before Zayn and the rest of the theatre party arrived, and he hurried across to them smiling. 

"I see you two have met," he said dryly. 

"You were incredible," Harry told him. "You brought the house down."

Still riding a wave of euphoria, Zayn took Harry's hands and pulled him into a triumphant hug, delivering a deep, passionate kiss that lasted so long they drew catcalls and whistles from those around them.

Zayn's manager appeared from the crowd and glared at them. "Have I not warned you about doing that sort of thing in public?" he muttered. 

Zayn set his shoulders and faced him, holding tight to Harry's hand. "Tough," he said. "This is me, like it or not."

He received a scowl in return but the man said nothing further, vanishing back into the crowd and loudly demanding someone find him a drink.

Louis gave Zayn a silent round of teasing applause, and Zayn looked at him worriedly. 

"Do you think I went too far?"

Louis shrugged with a smile. "If anyone can pull it off, you can."

George tugged Louis' arm to regain his attention. "Louis. You promised!" he pleaded, looking in the direction Cowell had gone. 

Louis rolled his eyes. "Oh, very well. Excuse us." He lead George through the crowd. "Simon? Could I have a word? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Left alone for a moment, Harry and Zayn exchanged smiles. 

"Sorry, I meant to introduce you properly," Zayn said. Harry laughed.

"It's okay. We introduced ourselves. He's nice," Harry added, and Zayn gave a smile of relief.

"I'm glad you think so."

Louis reappeared, grinning. "Sorry about that. But he's right, I did promise him an introduction. A favour for a favour, if you know what I mean." He winked at Harry and hailed a passing waiter who stepped across hurriedly.

"Drink, sirs?"

"Yeah, leave the tray," Louis ordered, and took it off him, handing out glasses with a flourish.

"Louis," said Zayn quietly. "Stop showing off."

Louis opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it. He subsided a little. "Was I? Sorry."

"No more than usual." Zayn smiled at him, and Louis laughed. He raised his glass to them in a toast.

"So, here's to you two."

Zayn raised his too. "And to you, Louis. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be here now. In so many ways. Thank you."

To his surprise, rather than coming out with some smart response, Louis actually blushed. 

"To all of us, then," Harry said brightly, and they all clinked glasses.

"So, tell me Harry," Louis said with a speculative look. "Do you sing at all?"

Harry grinned. "Mostly I just bake."

"Oh yes. I think I had one of your biscuits once," Louis said, making Harry laugh. 

"I hate to think what state they were in by the time they arrived. I should make you some fresh ones."

"I'd like that."

Zayn cleared his throat, and Louis gave him an amused look. "Down, boy. I'm just being friendly."

"Your _friendly_ has a way of escalating," Zayn laughed. He slid his arm round Harry's waist a little possessively and Harry leaned into him, smiling. 

"I think I'm going to like it here," he said.


End file.
